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LOUISE  ARNER  BOYD 


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THE  CRADLE   OF  THE   DEEP 


Lv^.D.  ADAMS] 


\  11.  tnkiM-. 


h'ronlispicce. 


THE 

CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP 

AN  ACCOUNT  OF 
A  VOYAGE  TO  THE  WEST  INDIES 


SIR   FREDERICK  TREVES,  Bart. 


'y 


G.C.V.O.,  C.B..  LL.D. 


SERJEANT    SURGEON    TO   H.M.    THE   KING 
SURGEON    IN    ORDINARY    TO    H.M.    QUEEN    ALEXANDRA 
AUTHOR   OF    'the    other    SIDE    OF    THE    LANTERN*    '  THE   TALE    OF    A    FIELD    HOSPITAL' 
'  UGANDA   FOR   A   HOLIDAY  '   ETC 


WITH  54  ILLUSTRATIONS  FROM  PHOTOGRAPHS 
BY  THE  AUTHOR,  AND  4  MAPS 


POPULAR    EDITION 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  DUTTON    &    COMPANY 

31  WEST  TWENTY-THIRD  STREET 
1913 


PREFACE. 


That  fervent  spirit  of  adventure  and  romance  which  set  aglow  the 
heart  of  every  lad  in  every  sea  town  of  England,  when  Elizabeth 
was  queen,  found  both  its  source  and  its  end  among  the  West 
Indies  and  by  the  Spanish  Main. 

The  palm-covered  island,  the  secret  creek,  the  white-walled 
Spanish  town  formed  the  scene  of  ever-inspiring  dreams.  The  boy 
from  the  grandmotherly  coaster,  who  found  his  way  into  Plymouth 
Sound,  would  sit  on  a  bollard  on  the  quay  and  listen  to  sun- 
browned  men  talking  of  Indians  and  sea  fights,  of  Plate  ships  and 
pieces  of  eight,  until  his  soul  so  burned  within  him  that  he  turned 
upon  his  own  homely  craft,  and  shipped  as  powder-boy  on  the  first 
galliasse  making  for  the  heroic  West. 

In  these  fair  islands  were  gold  and  pearls,  they  said,  as  well  as 
birds  and  beasts  beyond  the  imagination  of  man.  Here  under  the 
steaming  sun  of  the  tropics  the  pirate  harried  the  sea,  and  here, 
in  blood,  smoke,  and  cutlass  hacks  his  tale  was  writ.  In  coves 
among  the  islands  he  careened  his  ship  and  hid  his  treasure, 
in  blue  sea  alleys  he  watched  for  Spanish  merchantmen,  and  in 
fever-stricken  jungles  he  rotted  and  died.  For  over  a  century  the 
famous  Buccaneers  were  the  terror  of  the  Spanish  Main,  while  to 
every  sturdy  British  lad,  for  all  these  years,  the  call  of  the  sea 
rover  was  as  the  call  of  the  wild. 

The  very  first  glimpse  of  the  New  World  that  met  the  gaze  of 
Columbus  was  a  glimpse  of  a  West  Indian  island.  For  some  three 
centuries  after  his  coming,  the  coasts  the  great  navigator  tracked 
out  were  the  scene  of  a  sea  life  whose  common  round  was  one  of 


vi        THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP. 

ever  desperate  adventure.  For  three  centuries  ships  poured  west- 
ward from  nearly  every  port  in  Europe,  laden  wdth  arms  and  men, 
searching  for  strange  riches  and  for  a  sight  of  the  marvels  of  the 
new  earth. 

Through  the  island  channels  lay  the  passage  to  El  Dorado, 
to  Manoa,  the  city  of  the  lake,  where  the  streets  were  paved  with 
gold,  and  down  these  sea-ways,  radiant  with  hope,  sailed  Raleigh, 
the  dreamer,  on  his  road  to  fortune. 

It  was  among  these  islands  and  along  the  Main  that  there 
came  to  Drake  the  strength  and  craft  that  crushed,  in  fulness  of 
time,  the  Spanish  Armada.  Here  was  served  the  apprenticeship 
of  Dampier,  of  Frobisher,  of  Hawkins,  and  of  a  host  of  mighty 
sailormen  who  have  made  the  ocean  memorable. 

It  was  to  the  West  Indies  that  Nelson  look  his  first  voyage, 
a  voyage  from  which  the  puny  lad  "  returned  a  practical  seaman." 
It  was  here  that  he  held  his  first  command.  It  was  here  that 
he  learnt  from  the  quarter-deck  of  his  little  brig  the  elements 
of  war. 

In  the  seclusion  of  these  gorgeous  islands,  indeed,  the  long  sea 
stor}'  of  England  was  begun.  The  West  Indies  became  the  nursery 
of  the  British  Navy,  the  school  where  the  thews  were  hardened 
and  the  sea  lessons  learned.  Here  was  fostered  and  fed  that  soul 
of  adventure  and  reckless  daring  which  inspired  the  early  colonist 
and  made  invincible  the  man  with  the  boarding  pike.  Here  grew, 
from  puny  beginnings,  the  germ  of  the  great  Sea  Power  of  the 
World. 

In  the  proud  romance  of  the  sea,  in  the  ocean  songs  and  epics, 
in  the  sea  stories  which  have  been  told  and  retold  to  generations 
of  British  lads,  in  the  breeding  of  stout-hearted  men  and  the 
framing  of  far-venturing  ships,  the  islands  have  been  no  less  than 
the  Cradle  of  the  Deep. 

Thatched  House  Lodge,  Richmond  Park, 

Kingston-on-Thames.     March  1908. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGK 

I.     FROM  THE   CITY   OF   FOG   TO   AN  ISLAND  OF  ETERNAL 

SUMMER =         .         .         I 

II.  SEVENTY  YEARS  AGO  ....       o    ...    3 


III.  BARBADOS 


7 


IV.  THE   INLAND   CLIFF   AND   THE   SEA   BEACHES     .         .     .  17 

V.  GEORGE   WASHINGTON   AND   ANOTHER   AT   BARBADOS  24 

VI.  THE   ISLANDERS 28 

VII.  THE   PLANTERS   AND   THE   POOR   WHITES          •         •         •  37 

VTIL  THE   DAY  WHEN   THE   SUN   STOOD   STILL     .         .         .     .  43 

IX.  A   MYSTERIOUS    SHIP 49 

X  TRINIDAD 56 

XL  HOLY   ISLAND   AND   THE   FORT   IN    THE   WOOD       .         .  62 

XII.  ST.   JOSEPH 6S 

XIIL  EL   DORADO 72 

XIV.  THE   HIGH   WOODS         .         .                  78 

XV.  THE   FIRST   WEST   INDIAN   TOURIST 82 

XVL  THE   PITCH    LAKE .89 


XVII.     THE   BOCAS    .         .         .        . 
XVIII.     THE   FIVE   ISLANDS 
XIX.     A   GLANCE   AT   THE   MAP 


94 

•         • 98 

lOI 

XX.     GRENADA 106 

XXL     THE   FAIR    HELEN    OF   THE   WEST   INDIES         ...  109 

XXIL     CUL   DE   SAC   BAY 114 

XXIII.     THE   MORNE   FORTUNE 117 


viii  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

PAGE 

XXIV.  CASTRIES   AND   ITS   PEOPLE 123 

XXV.  THE   SONG   OF   CASIMIR   DELAVIGNE       .         .         .        .130 

XXVI.  MARTINIQUE 137 

XXVII.  "NO   FLINT"   GREY   AND   THE   STONE    SHIP        ,         .  143 

XXVIII.  THE   CITY  THAT   WAS 148 

XXIX.  THE   LAST   NIGHT   IN   ST.    PIERRE 154 

XXX.  THE   SHADOW   OF   THE   MOUNTAIN 158 

XXXI.  DOMINICA 162 

XXXH.  VICTORINE   AND   HER    FOREFATHERS         .         .        .     .  168 

XXXIII.  THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   SAINTS   PASSAGE        .         .        .175 

XXXIV.  ST.    KITTS 177 

XXXV.  ST.    KITTS    IN   ALL   ITS   GLORY 183 

XXXVI.  STRANGE   WARES 189 

XXXVII.  THE   LITTLE   CAPTAIN    OF   THE    "BOREAS"          ,         .  193 

XXXVIII.  THE   ENVIRONS   OF   ST.    KITTS 196 

XXXIX.  SABA   THE   ASTONISHING 201 

XL.  ST.    THOMAS 204 

XLI.  MEMOIRS   OF   EDWARD   TEACH,    MARINER    .         .         .208 

XLII.  A   HARBOUR   ENTRY 215 

XLIII.  THE   MAN   WITH   A   GLOVE    IN    HIS    HAT        .         .         .223 

XLIV.  THE   SAN   JUAN    OF   TO-DAY 227 

XLV.  THE   WHITE   HOUSE 230 

XLVI.  MONA   THE   PROTESTANT 236 

XLVH.  THE   ISLAND   OF   MISRULE 238 

XLVIII.  A   CITY   OUT   AT   ELBOWS 244 

XLIX.  THE   TOMB   OF  COLUMBUS 249 

L.  DRAKE   AT   SAN   DOMINGO 251 

LL  THE   BUCCANEERS 257 

LII.  "OUR  WELL   BELOVED" 263 

LIII.  ON   THE   WAY   TO  JAMAICA 267 

LIV.  SPANISH   TOWN 273 


CONTENTS  ix 


PAGE 


LV.  KINGSTON   IN  RUINS    ...,.<,,.  279 

LVI.  A  RECORD  OF  TEN  SECONDS 285 

LVII.  ADMIRAL  JOHN   BENBOW 289 

LVIII.  PORT   ROYAL  AS   IT   WAS        .        ,        ,        «        o        .     .  293 

LIX.  PORT  ROYAL  AS   IT  IS         .        ,        .  ,  .  298 

LX.  TOM  BOWLING'S  CHANTRY    .«,,...  303 

LXI.  COLON 307 

LXII.  THE   GOLD   ROAD 310 

LXIII.  SOME  WHO   FOLLOWED  THE  GOLD   ROAD  .        .        .316 

LXIV.  OVER   THE   ISTHMUS   TO   PANAMA 325 

LXV.  MORGAN'S   RAID      ..,-,.,,.  330 

LXVI.  OLD   PANAMA       ..,.,..,,.  334 

LXVIL  "GROG'S"  VICTORY 340 

LXVIII.  HOW  DRAKE  WRESTLED  WITH  THE  SHADOW      .     .  343 

LXIX.  CARTAGENA   HARBOUR 348 

LXX.  THE   CITY   OF   CARTAGENA    ..,,,,.  355 

LXXI.  OFF  TO   THE   FRONT    ...        c        ,        ...  359 

LXXII.  THE   SARGASSO   SEA 363 

LXXIII.  THE    VANISHING     ISLAND    AND    THE    GIANT    WHO 

DIED  TWICE 366 

LXXIV.  "THE  SOUGH  OF  AN  OLD  SONG"     .        .       ,       .    .  372 

INDEX ,375 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


•( 


VICTORINE Frontispiece 

1.  BARBADOS  HARBOUR 1 

2.  MANCHINEEL   GROVE,   BARBADOS ^Tofacep.      7 

3.  VIEW   FROM   ST.   JOHN'S   CHURCH,    BARBADOS 

4.  NEGRO   HUTS,   BARBADOS         .... 

5.  PRINCIPAL'S  HOUSE,  CODRINGTON   COLLEGE,  BAR- 

BADOS      

6.  MAIN   STREET,   HOLE   TOWN,    BARBADOS   . 

7.  LANDING     PLACE     OF    THE     «'  OLIVE     BLQSSOME," 

BARBADOS      

8.  A  PLANTER'S  HOUSE,  BARBADOS.  A  CIRCLE  OF 

CABBAGE  PALMS 

9.  A  WEST  INDIAN  GRAVEYARD,  BARBADOS.   THE 

SILK  COTTON  TREE  

10.  PLANTER'S  HOUSE,  SHOWING  THE  HURRICANE 

WING 

11.  WEST   INDIAN  JUNGLE 

12.  A  JUNGLE   STREAM,   TRINIDAD | 

13.  ST.   JOSEPH,   TRINIDAD [ 

14.  TRASH     HUTS     ON     THE     EDGE     OF     THE     HIGH 

WOODS         

15.  THE  SHORE   NEAR   THE   PITCH   LAKE     .... 

16.  THE   PITCH   LAKE 

17.  STREET   IN   GRENADA 

18.  MARKET   SQUARE,   GRENADA 

19.  CASTRIES,   ST.    LUCIA 

20.  GRAVEYARD,    MORNE   FORTUNE     .... 

21.  SOUFRIERE,    ST.    LUCIA 

22.  THE   QUAY,    ST.    PIERRE,    MARTINIQUE 

23.  THE   MAIN   STREET,    ST.    PIERRE,    MARTINIQUE 

24.  ROSEAU   VALLEY,   DOMINICA      .... 


19 

21 

23 
37 

41 

57 
69 

79 
89 
93 

107 

"7 

127 

155 
161 
167 


Xll 


THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 


25- 

26. 

27- 

28. 
29. 
30- 
31- 
32. 
33- 
34. 
35. 
36. 
37. 
38. 
39- 
40. 
41. 
42. 
43- 
44. 

45- 
46. 

47- 
48. 

49. 
SO. 

51- 
52. 
53- 
54- 


BRIMSTONE   HILL,    ST.    KITTS 

BRIMSTONE   HILL,    ST.    KITTS 

SAN  JUAN,   PUERTO   RICO | 

FORT   SAN   CRISTOBAL,    SAN   JUAN I 

CASTLE   OF   HOMENAJE,    SAN   DOMINGO      . 

RIVER   FRONT,    SAN   DOMINGO 

TOMB   OF   COLUMBUS,    SAN   DOMINGO 

KING'S   HOUSE,    SPANISH   TOWN ^ 

STREET   IN   SPANISH   TOWN [ 

RODNEY'S   MONUMENT,    SPANISH   TOWN        .         .     . 

GUNS   FROM    VILLE  DE  PARIS ^ 

STREET   IN   SPANISH   TOWN ) 

EFFECTS   OF   EARTHQUAKE,    KINGSTON      . 

THE   QUEEN'S   STATUE,   KINGSTON x 

PARISH   CHURCH,   KINGSTON ) 

PORT   ROYAL \ 

FORT  CHARLES,    PORT   ROYAL ) 

NELSON'S   QUARTERS,   PORT   ROYAL        .... 

THE   GOLD   ROAD,    PANAMA 

A   SQUARE   IN   PANAMA   CITY 

A  CHURCH   IN   PANAMA   CITY 

THE   COUNTRY  AROUND   PANAMA    

THE   BRIDGE,    OLD   PANAMA I 

THE   SEA  WALL,   OLD   PANAMA ) 

OLD   PANAMA | 

HARBOUR   OF   OLD   PANAMA ) 

CARTAGENA   HARBOUR 

FORT   SAN    LAZAR,    CARTAGENA | 

A  STREET   IN   CARTAGENA      

PLAZA  DE  LOS   MARTIRES,   CARTAGENA  .     . 


To /ace  p.  177 
183 


221 

239 
247 
251 

273 
277 

279 
285 

289 

293 

299 
315 
325 
329 
331 

335 
339 

349 

355 
359 


MAPS 

CASTRIES,    ST.    LUCIA To  face  p.  113 

MARTINIQUE ,.143 

CARTAGENA ,.353 

WEST   INDIES   AND   SPANISH   MAIN          ....  At  end  of  volunu 


THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP. 

I. 

FROM  THE   CITY  OF  FOG   TO  AN   ISLAND   OF  ETERNAL   SUMMER. 

London  in  mid-December,  on  the  eve  of  the  departure  of  the 
mail  steamer  for  the  West  Indies,  was  a  disconsolate  place. 

The  least  woeful  spot,  perhaps,  was  Regent  Street  at  high 
noon.  The  road  was  covered  with  a  sour,  chocolate-coloured  mud 
which  spat  viciously  from  under  the  Juggernaut  wheels  of  motor 
omnibuses.  Above  there  was  no  suggestion  of  either  atmosphere 
or  sky,  but  merely  a  pall  of  fog  as  cheerless  as  a  poor-house 
blanket.  The  street  began  in  mist  and  ended  in  mist,  while 
into  the  same  gelid  shadow  the  carriages  vanished.  Things 
were  seen  as  through  a  glass  darkly,  so  that  the  housetops 
looked  like  distant  battlements. 

There  was  a  smell  abroad  as  of  mildew,  seasoned  by  the 
stench  of  petrol  and  the  acrid  filth  of  the  street.  The  shop 
windows  were  steamed  over  by  a  clammy  sweat.  Within  were 
half-suffocated  lights,  for  the  day  showed  no  distinctions  of  morn, 
afternoon  or  eventide. 

The  people  who  walked  the  pavements  kept  their  eyes  upon 
the  slimy  stones.  They  seemed  narcotised  by  a  cold,  the  shrewd- 
ness of  which  no  thermometer  could  register.  The  only  sounds 
that  cheered  them  were  the  hissing  of  wheels,  the  hammering  of 
hoofs,  and  the  occasional  jingle  of  hansom-cab  bells. 

The  only  patch  of  colour  I  can  remember  in  this  last  walk 
in  London  was  derived    from  a   yellow  and  red  poster  dealing 

B 


2  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

with  Christmas  festivities.  It  was  carried  by  a  damp,  sepia- 
tinted  man,  and  the  gaudy  colours  were  reflected  in  the  pool  of 
liquid  mud  over  which  he  stood  stupefied.  There  was  also  a 
barrow  filled  with  holly — a  pile  of  shining  leaves  and  scarlet 
berries — but  beyond  these  the  houses,  the  vehicles,  and  the 
people  were  all  chilled  down  to  the  general  grey  of  cellar  mould. 

Then  came  an  indefinite  sea  journey,  in  no  way  unlike  so 
many  others,  marked  by  recollections  of  a  fading  port,  the  thud 
of  engines,  the  scud  of  the  wave  under  the  ship's  bow,  the  landing 
from  a  boat  on  a  hot,  white  quay  crowded  with  negroes. 

As  the  last  association  with  any  land  was  concerned  with  a 
walk  along  Regent  Street,  so  the  next  took  the  form  of  swimming 
in  a  pool  within  the  coral  reef  at  Barbados. 

It  was  again  high  noon.  The  rays  of  the  tropical  sun  were 
keen  as  a  hot  sword-blade.  The  sea  was  sensuously  warm.  On 
the  shore,  on  the  edge  of  a  coral  cliff  some  twelve  feet  high,  was 
a  bathing-hut  of  brown  wood  with  warped  sun-shutters,  and  a 
flight  of  blistering  steps  leading  to  the  water.  The  little  cliff 
was  hollowed  out  into  caverns  by  the  tide,  while  over  its  brink 
hung  creepers  in  long  festoons. 

The  cabin  was  shaded  by  the  leaves  of  a  sea-grape  tree.  A 
clump  of  bananas,  a  hibiscus  bush  covered  with  crimson  flowers, 
and  some  acacias  kept  company  with  the  hut.  As  I  floated  in 
the  pool  I  could  watch  a  humming-bird  busy  with  the  blossoms  of 
the  sea-grape,  and  could  follow  the  flight  of  many  dragon-flies. 

The  sky  above  was  the  deepest  blue,  the  sea  beyond  the 
reef  was  the  colour  of  a  pansy,  while  upon  the  reef  itself  the 
surf  broke  in  a  line  of  white.  The  sea  within  the  reef  was  a 
wondrous  green,  and  so  clear  was  the  water  and  so  white  the 
sand  that  in  swimming  one's  shadow  could  be  seen  on  the 
weedless  bottom.  In  the  distance,  where  the  small  cliff  ended, 
there  came  a  beach,  curved  like  a  sickle,  with  palms  and 
impenetrable  trees  along  the  rim  of  the  strand.  The  air  was 
heavy  with  the  smell  of  the  sea,  while  upon  the  ear  there  fell 
no  sound  except  that  of  the  surf  on  the  reef. 


II. 

SEVENTY  YEARS   AGO. 

A  JOURNEY  to  Barbados  in  a  mail  steamer  of  6000  tons 
provides  little  to  comment  upon  unless  it  be  the  grumbling  of 
the  passengers.  There  are  always  many  to  find  fault.  Some 
will  complain  that  the  ship  goes  too  fast,  or  not  fast  enough. 
Others  are  aggrieved  because  the  electric  fan  in  their  cabin  hums 
like  a  giant  bee,  or  because  the  grand  piano  is  out  of  tune,  or 
because  quails  are  not  cooked  in  a  manner  they  approve  of. 

Those  who  are  most  ready  with  grievances  may  perhaps  be 
appeased  by  an  account  of  the  journey  from  England  to  Barbados 
by  mail  ship  as  it  was  accomplished  only  seventy  years  ago. 

In  1836  one  William  Lloyd,^  doctor  of  medicine,  started  for 
Barbados  with  three  male  friends.  They  were  simple  tourists, 
travelling  for  pleasure,  and,  incidentally,  for  that  improvement  of 
the  mind  which  was  regarded  as  desirable  in  those  days.  The 
departure  was  from  Falmouth,  and  the  ship  was  the  mail  barque 
Skylark^  Captain  Ladd.  She  was  lying  in  the  bay,  ready  to 
start.  It  must  be  stated  that  the  doctor  himself  commenced  to 
grumble  from  the  beginning.  He  complained  that  "  the  demand 
of  the  boatmen  was  half-a-guinea  each — an  excessive  charge, 
allowed  by  the  rules  of  the  port"  It  cost  the  tourists,  therefore, 
2/.  to  get  on  board  !  The  bulwarks  of  the  ship  were  "  forbiddingly 
high,"  so  that  it  was  impossible  to  look  over.  Those  who  desired 
to  gaze  upon  the  sea  had  to  hang  over  the  gunwale,  like  boys 
over  an  orchard  wall.  The  poop  was  not  safe  for  tourists, 
"  having  no  defence  at  the  sides." 

'  Letters  from  the  West  Indies. 


4  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE    DEEP. 

There  was  one  general  cabin  in  the  Skylark  for  all  the 
passengers — to  live  in,  dine  in,  and  sleep  in.  It  was  so  low  that 
it  was  impossible  to  stand  upright  in  it ;  moreover,  it  was  dark. 
This  was  due  at  the  moment  to  the  fact  that  "the  top  of  the 
cabin  lights  was  covered  with  meat  in  a  recently  slaughtered 
state."  No  doubt,  when  the  mail  barque  got  away  to  sea  the 
joints  were  removed  and  the  blood-smeared  panes  of  glass  were 
cleaned.  The  tourists  noticed  also  that  "joints  were  hung  around 
in  various  parts  of  the  vessel,  interspersed  with  cauliflowers, 
cabbages  and  turnips." 

Now,  in  this  low-roofed  cabin,  with  the  blood-dimmed  skylight, 
there  were  only  twelve  berths  provided.  The  number  of 
passengers,  on  the  other  hand,  was  eighteen — viz.  fifteen  gentlemen 
and  three  ladies.  Six  of  the  party  had,  therefore,  to  shift  as  best 
they  could  during  the  month  the  voyage  lasted. 

When  the  ship  was  well  in  the  tropics  the  doctor  makes  the 
following  note :  "  Our  nights  are  sad  from  the  skylights  being 
closed,  the  passengers  who  sleep  on  the  table,  on  the  benches  and 
on  the  floor  being  afraid  of  cold  from  the  night  air."  That  cabin 
must  have  been  little  less  than  a  torture-chamber.  A  fetid  oil- 
lamp,  swinging  to  and  fro  as  the  ship  rolled,  would  reveal  the 
sleepers  on  the  table.  The  heat  would  be  suffocating  and  the  air 
thick  with  the  fumes  of  the  last  meal,  of  stale  wine,  of  tobacco,  of 
damp  clothes,  and  of  eighteen  perspiring  human  beings.  Above 
the  creaking  of  the  bulkheads  there  would,  no  doubt,  be  heard  the 
sigh  of  the  tired  woman  who  could  not  sleep,  the  gasp  of  the 
fevered  man  who  wanted  air,  and  the  snoring  of  the  heavy  people 
on  the  floor.  The  passengers  must  have  hated  this  too  familiar, 
ever-frowsy  "  black  hole,"  for  it  is  needless  to  say,  that  in  the  mail 
barque  of  1836  there  was  no  smoking-room,  no  library,  no  music 
room,  and,  of  course,  no  bath-room.  When  the  weather  was 
unfavourable  there  was  nothing  for  the  fifteen  gentlemen  and 
the  three  ladies  to  do  but  to  sit  below  in  the  gloom,  and  like 
St.  Paul,  "  hope  for  the  day." 

The  doctor  found  the  meals  particularly  trying.  Upon  this 
topic  he  writes  as  follows  :  "  It  is  a  trial  to  be  long  at  dinner  when 


SEVENTY   YEARS   AGO.  S 

one  is  panting  for  breath ;  the  right  plan  would  be  to  dine  off  one 
dish  and  then  away,  whereas  we  have  soup,  then  a  wait  for  fish, 
then  a  long  wait  for  a  course  of  meat,  then  a  tedious  wait  for 
a  course  of  pastry,  then  a  tiresome  wait  for  the  dessert,  and 
long  before  that  is  finished  we  are  wiping  our  foreheads."  One 
thing  is  clear — there  was  no  stinting  in  the  matter  of  food  on 
the  good  ship  Skylark.  The  order  of  the  day  was  as  follows  : 
coffee,  6  A.M.;  breakfast,  8  A.M.;  lunch,  12;  dinner,  4  P.M.,  with 
coffee  after ;  tea,  7  P.M. ;  and  supper,  9  P.M. 

The  doctor  remarks — and  the  remark  is  true  to  this  day — 
"there  is  some  temptation  to  eat  and  drink  too  much  at  sea." 
There  was  undoubtedly  too  much  wine  consumed  on  board  the 
Skylark  ;  so  much,  indeed,  that  it  led  to  "  headache  and  other 
feverish  symptoms." 

William  Lloyd,  however,  although  in  common  with  his  fellows 
he  panted  for  breath  whenever  he  found  himself  in  that  awful 
cabin,  was  disposed  to  make  the  best  of  things.  The  passage  from 
Falmouth  to  Barbados  occupied  twenty-six  days,  from  which  it 
may  be  inferred  that  the  Skylark  was  a  good  sailing  vessel  and  had 
a  strong  N.E.  trade  wind  behind  her  all  the  way.  "  We  had 
a  pleasant  voyage,"  writes  the  cheerful  doctor,  "  though  our  captain 
quarrelled  three  successive  days  with  his  sailing-master,  who  was 
at  last  put  in  arrest." 

Captain  Ladd  seems  to  have  had  quite  an  ample  idea  of  his 
position.  At  Falmouth  he  made  his  appearance  before  the 
passengers  with  a  theatrical  effect  worthy  of  a  leading  actor. 
The  barque  was  ready  to  sail,  the  last  package  was  on  board, 
the  sailing-master  was  striding  to  and  fro  on  the  poop,  all  the 
passengers,  eager  to  be  away,  were  watching  the  shore  for  a 
sign  of  the  great  man  who  was  to  lead  them  westward.  Just 
at  the  critical  moment  "  the  captain  arrived  in  his  cocked  hat 
and  uniform  with  the  mails  " — his  Majesty's  mails,  no  less. 

The  Skylark  reached  Barbados  after  sundown  on  the 
twenty-sixth  day.  At  10.30  P.M.  "  Captain  Ladd,  with  his 
cocked  hat  and  sword,  hastened  to  pay  his  devoirs  to  the 
captain   of    the   Belviderc   frigate    then    in    the   harbour."     The 


6  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

eighteen  passengers  having  witnessed  the  first  act  of  this 
impressive  ceremony  retired  to  the  loathsome  cabin  "  for  a  last 
stewing,"  as  the  doctor  puts  it  While  they  were  "  endeavouring 
to  woo  a  little  hot  sleep  "  Captain  Ladd  clanks  on  board  again 
and  arouses  everybody  with  the  news  that  "  a  fever  was  raging 
at  Bridgetown."  This  choice  information  was  probably  yelled 
down  the  hatchway  in  a  husky  voice  scented  with  rum. 

The  captain  having  dropped  this  bomb  into  the  sweltering 
hole  where  the  tourists  lay,  and  having  made  them  thereby 
perspire  the  more,  no  doubt  divested  himself  of  his  sword  and 
cocked  hat  and  sank  into  sleep,  with  the  happy  sense  of 
"  something  attempted,  something  done." 


BARBADOS  .  HARBOUR. 


MANCHINEEL    GROVE,    BARBADOS. 


III. 

BARBADOS. 

The  Royal  Mail  steamer  reaches  Barbados  at  daybreak.  On 
the  present  occasion  of  her  coming  the  sun  had  just  risen,  yet 
there  was  still  a  full  moon  shining,  like  a  disc  of  steel,  in  the 
grey.  The  steamer  crept  to  her  buoy  in  Carlisle  Bay,  and  by 
the  growing  light  there  could  be  seen  an  island  of  low 
pale-green  downs,  fringed  at  the  water's  edge  by  a  belt  of 
trees,  with  red-roofed,  white-walled  houses  dotted  between  them. 
The  green  uplands  were  brakes  of  sugar-cane.  There  was  no 
indication  of  a  definite  town  ;  no  evident  landing-place.  But  for 
a  few  palms  and  casuarina  trees,  negroes  in  boats,  and  a  number 
of  bright-hulled  schooners  from  "  down  the  islands,"  the  place 
might  have  been  a  bay  in  England. 

As  seen  from  the  ship  it  did  not  fulfil  the  florid  conception  of 
the  tropics  nor  the  idea  of  a  coral  island. 

Barbados  is  about  the  size  of  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and  at  the 
commencement  of  the  seventeenth  century  it  represented — with 
the  exception  of  Newfoundland — the  sole  colonial  possession  of 
England.  Indeed,  in  1605,  it  could  have  been  said  that  the 
empire  of  Great  Britain  beyond  the  seas  was  constituted  only 
by  a  vague  line  of  half-frozen  coast  and  this  tropical  Isle  of 
Wight,  for  the  two  represented  England's  insignificant  share  in 
the  New  World. 

Barbados  is  the  only  West  Indian  island  which  has  been 
English  from  the  days  of  its  beginning  until  now. 

The  manner  in  which  it  became  a  part  of  the  empire  is 
curious.  In  1605  a  certain  Sir  Oliver  Leigh,  of  Kent,  incited 
by  tales  of  rich  lands  in  the  West,  equipped  a  ship  called  the 
Olive  Blossome,   and    sent   her   across    the   seas.     In  due  course 


8  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

the  lumbering  craft  came  in  sight  of  Barbados,  and  the  sailors, 
attracted  by  a  sandy  cove  and  shady  trees,  rowed  ashore  and 
landed  on  the  beach.  "  Finding  no  opposition,"  these  good  men 
from  Ramsgate,  Deal  and  Dover  took  possession  of  the  island 
in  the  name  of  their  country. 

The  ceremony  attending  the  annexation  was  unaffected.  On 
the  beach  they  put  up  a  cross,  to  give  the  function  a  religious 
tone,  while  one  of  their  number  carved  on  the  bark  of  a  tree 
the  inscription, 

"James  K.  of  E.  and  of  this  island." 

The  cross  was  probably  made  from  the  staves  of  a  beer-barrel, 
and  the  graving  on  the  tree,  no  doubt,  was  done  by  a  dagger 
sharpened  on  a  leather  jerkin. 

It  may  be  imagined  that  when  the  ritual  was  over  these 
pioneers  of  empire  bathed — for  the  sandy  shore  would  have 
reminded  them  of  Thanet — chased  the  land  crabs,  or  threw  stones 
at  the  monkeys  who  still  haunt  this  corner  of  the  island.  They 
then  jumped  into  their  boat,  each  with  a  handful  of  strange 
flowers,  pushed  off  to  the  Olive  Blossome  and  sailed  away,  for 
they  were  bound  for  the  Main. 

The  annexation  ceremony  took  place  near  to  the  spot  on 
which  Hole  Town  now  stands  (page  22),  and  compared  with  the 
pomp  and  glamour  observed  by  the  Spaniards  on  like  occasions, 
the  proceeding  was  little  more  than  a  schoolboy  affair,  a  frolic  of 
a  party  of  Deal  boatmen. 

It  may  be  said  by  some  that  Trinidad  holds  precedence  of 
Barbados  in  the  matter  of  annexation,  for  in  1595  "the  Honorable 
Robert  Duddely,  Leiftenance  of  all  Her  Majestie's  fortes  and 
forces  beyonde  the  seas,"  took  possession  of  that  island,  with 
infinite  solemnity,  in  the  name  of  his  Queen.  He  nailed  to  a  tree 
"  a  peece  of  lead "  inscribed  with  the  Queen's  arms,  and  an 
announcement  in  the  Latin  tongue.  He  caused,  moreover, 
trumpets  to  be  blown  and  a  "drome"  to  be  beaten.  Unfor- 
tunately, the  island  was  at  that  time  in  the  possession  of  Spain, 
and  in  spite  of  the  "  peece  of  lead  "  continued  a  colony  of  that 


BARBADOS.  9 

State  for  long  years  after.  Robert  Duddely's  affair  was  indeed 
little  more  than  a  common  act  of  trespass,  in  which  he  was 
fortunately  not  detected. 

It  was  some  twenty  years  after  the  coming  of  the  Olive 
Blossojne  that  the  first  settlers  made  their  home  and  built  their 
log  huts  in  Barbados.  They  sailed  from  England  in  a  vessel 
named  the  William  and  John,  belonging  to  Sir  William  Courteen. 
They  made  for  the  same  sandy  bay — by  that  time  almost 
legendary — found  the  place  of  the  cross  and  the  writing  on  the 
tree.  In  a  clearing  in  a  forest  near  by  they  began  the  first  town, 
Hole  Town,  erected  a  fort  and  made  themselves  masters  of  at  least 
the  west  coast  of  the  island. 

Things,  however,  in  Barbados  were  neither  quiet  nor  well 
established  for  many  years  after  Courteen's  settlers  founded  their 
little  city.  For  it  happened  in  1627  that  King  Charles,  in  a 
moment  of  incoherent  liberality,  granted  all  the  Caribbee  Islands 
(twenty-two  in  number  including  Barbados)  to  the  Earl  of 
Carlisle.  Now,  few  of  these  islands  were  in  the  King's  gift,  and 
he  might  as  well  have  presented  the  Earl  at  the  same  time  with 
the  Atlantic  Ocean,  the  Equator,  and  the  North  and  South  Poles. 

However,  in  July  1628,  a  confident  body  of  settlers  landed  on 
the  south  of  the  island,  under  the  protection  of  the  Earl  of 
Carlisle,  and  established  another  town,  which  they  called  Bridge- 
town, because  they  found  there  a  bridge  which  the  Indians  had 
built  across  a  creek  of  the  sea.  The  bay  in  which  they  beached 
their  boats  is  called  Carlisle  Bay  to  this  present  time. 

As  may  be  supposed,  Courteen's  settlers — being  the  old  and 
original  inhabitants  of  the  island — thought  so  ill  of  this  counter- 
enterprise,  that  they  fell  upon  Carlisle's  men  and  beat  them 
grievously.  Later  on  it  transpired  that  the  King,  when  in  a 
previous  island-scattering  mood,  had  already  promised  Barbados 
to  the  Earl  of  Marlborough.  Lord  Carlisle  thereupon  approached 
the  Lord  of  Marlborough  and  found  that  peer  (who  probably  had 
vague  ideas  as  to  what  and  where  Barbados  was)  most  ready  to 
forego  all  claims  to  the  property  in  consideration  of  a  sum  of 
300/.  sterling  paid  in  cash  annually. 


10  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

It  may  be  conjectured  that  one  party  to  this  bargain  sauntered 
down  St.  James's  chuckHng  over  the  solid  gold  coin  he  had 
obtained  for  an  estate  as  shadowy  as  Prospero's  island,  while  the 
other  luirried  to  his  ship-master  to  assure  him  that  at  last — and 
for  the  paltry  sum  of  300/. — Barbados  was  his. 

Yet  scarcely  had  the  money  been  counted  out  upon  the  Earl 
of  Marlborough's  table  when  Sir  William  Courteen  forced  himself 
into  the  lordly  presence  and  pointed  out,  possibly  with  some 
emphasis  and  heat,  that  Barbados  was  his,  and  that  he  was 
possessed  of  it  prior  to  1627,  at  which  time  the  generous  King 
gave  it  away,  with  adjacent  parts  of  the  globe,  as  if  it  had  been 
a  mere  bonbonniere. 

Thus  began  squabbles  to  which  the  cudgel  play  in  the 
environs  of  Bridgetown  and  "  The  Hole "  —  as  the  scoffers 
called  the  metropolis  of  Barbados — was  a  small  tiling. 

Barbados  is  very  densely  populated.  Its  inhabitants  number 
some  200,000,  nearly  all  of  whom  are  negroes.^  The  patriotism 
of  the  Barbadians  is  unbounded,  and  in  these  unsentimental 
days,  is  pleasant  to  contemplate.  "  They  cling  to  their  home,'' 
as  Froude  remarks,  "  with  innocent  vanity,  as  though  it  was  the 
finest  country  in  the  world."  If  they  do  leave  it,  it  is  only  for  a 
time.  Many  of  these  loyalists  have  been  attracted  recently  to 
the  Canal  enterprise  at  Panama  by  the  high  wages  which  obtain 
there.  But  the  stay  of  the  exiles  on  the  Isthmus  is  short. 
They  go  thither  in  order  that  they  may  enjoy  Barbados  the 
better.  The  heavy  toil  and  the  hard  climate  are  forgotten  when 
they  return  to  the  island  and  can  indulge — if  only  for  one  day — 
in  the  supreme  luxury  of  driving  through  the  town  in  a  buggy, 
in  a  black  coat  and  bowler  hat,  lit  up  by  a  necktie  of  fulminating 
colours.  There  will  be  then  so  wide  a  grin  on  the  ci-devant 
navvy's  face  that  the  rows  of  white  teeth  can  hardly  hold  the 
penny  cigar.  The  anticipation  of  this  one  triumphal  progress 
through  familiar  streets  will  have  kept  alive  for  months  the 
germ  of  hope  in  many  a  labourer's  breast  at  Colon. 

'  The  population  of  the  Isle  of  Wight  is,  by  comparison,  82,418. 


T 


>7':^: 


iM 


\!l 


BARBADOS.  ii 

Barbados,  too,  is  intensely  and  seriously  English.  "  It  was 
organised,"  writes  Froude,  "  from  the  first  on  English  traditional 
lines,  with  its  constitution,  its  parishes,  and  parish  churches  and 
churchwardens,  the  schools  and  parsons,  all  on  the  old  model, 
which  the  unprogressive  inhabitants  have  been  wise  enough  to 
leave  undisturbed." 

In  the  heart  of  the  capital  is  Trafalgar  Square,  and  in  the 
centre  of  that  square  (just  as  in  the  Mother  Country)  is  a  statue 
to  Nelson.  London,  indeed,  may  be  said  to  have  imitated  Bridge- 
town in  this  particular,  for  the  monument  in  Barbados  was  the 
first  erected  to  the  hero  of  Trafalgar.  In  defence  of  the  English 
metropolis,  however,  it  must  be  stated — and  it  is  to  be  hoped  with- 
out jealousy — that  this  rival  statue  is  not  impressive,  while  the 
famous  mariner  is  made  to  look  bored  and  jaundiced,  although 
he  is  no  longer  "  pea  green  "  as  he  was  when  Froude  saw  him. 

The  city  of  Bridgetown  is  full  of  bustle,  dust  and  mule 
teams,  but  it  is  not  attractive.  The  suburbs,  on  the  other  hand, 
are  beautiful — beautiful  as  only  the  outskirts  of  a  town  in  the 
tropics  can  be.  There  are  villas  lost  in  ample  gardens,  avenues 
of  palms,  white  roads  barred  by  black  shadows  and  made  glorious 
by  mahogany  and  banyan  trees,  by  the  cordia  with  its  orange- 
coloured  blossoms,  by  the  scarlet  hibiscus,  by  walls  buried  under 
blue  convolvulus  flowers,  by  over-stretching  boughs  from  which 
hang  magenta  festoons  of  Bougainvillea.  Here  can  be  seen  that 
most  stately  of  all  palms,  the  palmiste  or  cabbage  palm,  with  such 
trees  as  the  tamarind,  the  mango,  the  shaddock,  and  the  curious 
frangipani,  looking  as  bare  as  a  plucked  bird. 

On  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  and  indeed  all  over  the  island 
will  be  found  in  rows,  in  clumps,  in  halting  lines,  or  in  infrequent 
dots  the  dwellings  of  the  negroes.  These  are  tiny  huts  of 
pewter-grey  wood,  raised  from  the  ground  on  a  few  rough  stones 
and  covered  by  a  roof  of  dark  shingles.  They  are  as  simple  as 
the  houses  a  child  draws  on  a  slate — a  thing  of  two  rooms,  with 
two  windows  and  one  door.  The  windows  have  sun  shutters  in 
the  place  of  glass  ;  there  is  no  chimney,  for  the  housewife  does 
her  cooking  out  of  doors  in  the  cool  of  the  evening. 


12  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

Such  is  the  original  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,  scarcely  changed  these 
two  hundred  years.  More  picturesque  little  toy  houses  can  hardly 
be  imagined,  but  it  makes  one  gasp  to  think  how  many  human 
beings  crowd  into  these  tiny  rooms  after  sundown,  for  the  negro 
sleeps  with  firmly  closed  doors  and  shutters  to  keep  out 
"jumbies"  and  ghosts,  which  are  both  numerous  and  trying  in 
the  West  Indies,  centipedes,  which  are  ten  inches  long,  snakes, 
vampire  bats,  and  other  horrors  of  the  tropical  night. 

These  fragile  huts  are  those  which  are  referred  to  in 
descriptions  of  hurricanes  in  which  it  is  said  that  "  over  3000 
houses  have  been  blown  down,  six  villages  have  been  levelled 
with  the  earth,  and  10,000  people  are  homeless." 

It  is  not  uncommon  to  meet  a  house  on  the  highway  in  the 
act  of  being  "  removed."  It  is  placed  on  a  cart  flat-wise,  like 
a  puzzle  taken  to  pieces,  the  four  walls  being  laid  one  above  the 
other  as  if  they  were  pieces  of  scenery  from  a  theatre.  The  roof 
is  indistinguishable  as  such,  the  tiles  are  in  the  bottom  of  the 
cart,  and  while  the  owner  of  the  residence  will  carry  the  front 
door  on  his  head,  other  kind  friends  will  assist  with  the  window 
shutters,  the  doorstep  and  the  fowlhouse. 

About  each  tiny  pewter-grey  house  will  be  the  comfortable 
green  of  bananas  and  guinea-corn,  a  clump  of  rustling  cane,  with 
possibly  a  papaw  or  a  bread-fruit  tree  to  shade  the  threshold. 
In  what  may  be  called  the  policies  are  half-naked  children,  some 
fowls,  a  pig  tied  by  the  neck,  or  a  goat  tethered  in  like  fashion. 

The  climate  of  Barbados  in  the  winter  is  healthy  and  agreeable. 
The  little  island  lies  far  out  to  sea  in  the  very  heart  of  the  trade 
wind.  That  genial  breeze  blows  steadily  from  November  to  May. 
To  sit  in  a  draught  in  scant  attire  so  that  a  strong  east  wind  may 
play  upon  the  sitter  like  a  douche  is  one  of  the  chief  objects  of 
life  in  Barbados.  The  thermometer  varies  from  about  76°  to  82°  F. 
There  are  no  sudden  lapses  of  temperature,  none  of  that  mean 
chill  at  sundown  which  falls  like  a  footpad  upon  the  sojourner 
in  the  Riviera.  It  is  possible  to  be  out  and  about  all  day.  There 
is  no  need  of  any  sun-helmet  The  straw  hat  of  the  river  Thames 
is  all  the  head-covering  required  in  this  or  any  other  West  Indian 


BARBADOS.  13 

island.  The  badge  of  the  raw  tourist  is  a  white  helmet  and  a 
mosquito-bitten  face.  The  one  is  as  superfluous  as  the  other 
when  the  management  of  mosquito-curtains  has  been  learnt 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  mosquitos  and  insects  generally  give  very 
little  trouble  in  Barbados, 

The  climate,  as  a  whole,  may  be  judged  by  the  circumstance 
that  the  medical  men  of  Bridgetown  cling  all  the  year  round 
to  the  black  frock  coat  and  tall  hat,  which  are  the  delight  of  the 
profession  in  Great  Britain.  The  air  is  comparatively  dry.  The 
roads  throughout  the  island  are  excellent,  while  the  sea-bathing 
cannot  be  surpassed.  The  sky  in  the  dry  season  is  now  and  then 
clouded  over,  and  there  is  occasional  rain,  two  features  which  will 
be  appreciated  by  those  who  have  been  wearied  by  the  unfailing 
sunshine  of  the  "  cold  weather "  in  India.  The  island  has  an 
excellent  water  supply,  while  both  malaria  and  yellow  fever 
are  practically  unknown.  Barbados  has  had  no  experience  of 
earthquake,  it  possesses  no  volcano,  and  the  hurricane  season 
is  limited  to  the  months  of  summer  and  autumn.  The  island, 
therefore,  presents  an  admirable  climate  for  those  who  cannot, 
or  will  not,  winter  in  northern  latitudes. 

While  on  the  subject  of  health  matters,  it  may  be  noted  that 
the  West  Indian  islands  still  suffer — in  spite  of  every  care  and  of 
ceaseless  investigation — very  seriously  from  leprosy.  The  disease 
is  limited  to  the  "  coloured "  sections  of  the  creole  population, 
being  rare  in  the  white  creole. 

At  Barbados  is  an  excellent  lazaretto,  maintained  by  the 
Government.  It  is  a  model  institution  of  its  kind,  and  reflects 
great  credit  upon  its  medical  chief,  Dr.  Archer.  The  lazar-house 
is  situated  by  the  sea,  in  a  pleasant  garden  facing  to  the  west. 
Around  the  garden  is  a  very  high  and  woeful  wall,  like  the  wall 
of  a  convent  or  a  prison.  Those  who  are  within  the  garden  are 
captives  for  life.  All  have  had  forced  upon  them  a  vow  never 
to  look  upon  the  world  again,  for  there  is  no  way  out  to  the 
high  road  except  through  the  gate  that  leads  to  the  burial-ground. 
It  is  a  garden  that  sees  only  the  setting  of  the  sun. 

All  who  walk  its  weary  paths  are  condemned  to  die.     There 


14        THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP. 

is  no  ray  of  hope  in  the  lepers'  pleasance.  The  shipwrecked  man 
on  a  raft  may  search,  day  after  day,  for  the  gleam  of  a  sail,  but  on 
the  horizon  of  these  poor  castaways  there  will  be  never  a  speck  to  be 
seen.  The  days  are  horrible  in  their  mockery  for  they  are  nearly 
always  sunny ;  the  trees  are  bright  with  blossoms  and  alive  with  birds. 
The  birds  are  free  to  come  and  go,  are  busy  with  their  mating  and 
the  building  of  their  nests.  The  men  and  women  who  hobble  and 
sigh  and  curse  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees  have  no  one  thing  to 
look  forward  to  but  a  lingering  death.  If  the  days  are  hideous 
the  nights  at  least  bring  forgetfulness  and  peace. 

"  How  sweet  to  sleep  and  so  get  nearer  death,"  must  be  the 
cry  of  each  one  of  these  lamentable  outcasts. 

If  all  were  old  and  had  lived  their  lives  the  fate  would  not  be 
so  tragic,  but  in  this  garden  of  Gethsemane  there  are  budding 
maidens  and  sturdy  lads.  Among  the  newcomers  I  saw  a  girl 
of  seventeen.  She  had  all  the  freshness  of  perfect  health,  but 
certain  loathly  spots  had  appeared  upon  her  skin,  and  then  had 
come — the  inquisition,  the  wrenching  from  home,  the  banishment 
to  the  house  in  the  garden.  She  had,  a  week  or  so  ago,  such  a  life 
before  her  as  is  dreamed  of  by  a  girl  of  seventeen.  She  had  a  lover, 
perhaps,  but  now  the  iron  gate  of  her  Paradise  has  shut  with  a 
clang  behind  her  and  she  is  doomed  to  a  slow  rotting  of  the  body, 
inch  by  inch. 

She  can  see  in  the  lazar-house,  depicted  with  brutal  candour, 
the  future  of  her  days.  Her  fingers  will  slough  off  like  the  hands 
of  this  poor  woman  who  looks  at  her  with  such  compassion. 
Her  face  will  become  hideous  with  toad-skin  growths  until  she 
will  be  as  little  human  looking  as  the  dulled,  distorted  creature 
who  sits  on  a  bench  waiting  for  the  laggard  end.  She  will  change 
to  a  thing  as  repulsive  and  gargoyle-like  as  that  horror  in  the 
corner  of  the  ward  whose  sightless  eyes  can  happily  no  longer 
see  the  vileness  of  her  own  deformity.  The  fresh  young  face 
will  become  the  Medusa's  head.  She  is  looking  at  her  forecast 
as  if  it  were  shadowed  in  a  wizard's  mirror — and  she  is  but 
seventeen. 

In  the  road  beyond  the  garden  wall  can  be  heard  the  laughter 


BARBADOS.  15 

of  those  who  pass  by  to  the  town,  while  within  is  being  dragged 
out,  act  by  act,  one  of  the  saddest  tragedies  of  human  life. 

It  was  a  relief  to  pass  from  the  lazaretto  to  even  such  a  haven 
for  the  helpless  as  the  lunatic  asylum.  This  is  a  new,  admirably 
administered  building  under  the  competent  charge  of  Dr.  Manning. 
The  best  remembered  feature  in  the  asylum  is  an  open  quad- 
rangle covered  with  grass.  Around  each  side  of  it  runs  a  low  shed 
or  verandah  upon  which  open  the  barred  windows  of  many  rooms. 

In  this  strange  caravanserai  are  gathered  a  great  number  of 
insane  folk,  mostly  negroes.  In  the  centre  of  the  quadrangle  a 
grey-headed  mulatto  is  kneeling  in  the  sun  and  praying  with 
breathless  eagerness.     He  is  a  religious  monomaniac. 

A  comparatively  young  man,  sweating  with  excitement,  and 
puffing  out  his  cheeks  like  a  dog  who  dreams  in  his  sleep,  is  calling 
out  that  he  is  Lord  Nelson,  and  that  he  wants  boots.  Lying 
senseless  in  the  shade  is  a  man  recovering  from  a  fit.  Drooping 
on  benches  are  listless  melancholies,  while  among  them  is  a  man 
who  sits  bolt  upright  and  for  ever  pats  his  hand  to  the  moaning 
of  some  fragment  of  a  song.  A  very  cheerful  being,  squatted  on 
the  ground,  is  professing  to  make  a  hat  out  of  grass  roots  collected 
with  infinite  assiduity.  There  are,  besides,  idiots  and  dotards  and 
the  absolutely  mindless. 

One  figure  amidst  this  nightmare  crowd  attracted  my  atten- 
tion. He  was  a  white  man  of  about  forty,  with  long  fair  hair.  He 
was  clad  simply  in  a  shirt  and  trousers.  His  feet  were  bare.  He 
never  ceased  to  walk  round  and  round  the  shaded  alley,  per- 
sistently, laboriously.  His  lips  were  compressed,  while  there  was 
a  look  of  forlorn  determination  in  his  eyes.  He  had  been  in  the 
asylum  seven  years.  He  was  a  Scotsman,  and  was  reputed  to 
be  a  sailor  from  Aberdeen.  He  had  been  left  behind  sick,  and 
apparently  dying,  by  a  ship  whose  master  had  never  called  at  the 
island  again.  Every  effort  to  trace  the  man's  friends  had  failed. 
Since  he  had  been  in  the  asylum  he  had  never  uttered  a  word, 
nor  had  he  once  replied  to  the  persistent  questions  put  to  him. 
For  seven  years  he  had  kept  silence.  For  seven  years  he  had 
tramped,  day  after  day,  round  this  walled  quadrangle,  picking  his 


i6  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

way  through  the  mumbling  crowd.  To  what  far-away  goal  he  was 
travelling,  along  what  endless  road,  amidst  what  horrors  and 
under  what  crushing  vow,  who  could  say  ? 

Here  he  was,  a  derelict ;  one  of  the  "  missing,"  one  of  those  who 
had  gone  under.  In  some  Highland  village  they  may  still  tell 
how  "  Jamie  "  went  to  sea  and  was  never  heard  of  again,  or  how  he 
was  put  ashore  ill  on  a  West  Indian  island  and  died  there.  He 
must  have  died,  his  mother  will  say,  or  he  would  have  written  or 
come  home.  He  has  never  written ;  he  will  never  come  home,  but 
will  tramp,  a  lonely  man,  round  and  round  this  circle  of  purgatory 
until  his  foot  falters  and  he  stumbles  into  the  dark. 


IV. 

THE   INLAND   CLIFF   AND   THE   SEA   BEACHES. 

Barbados  is  a  coral  island.  A  coral  reef  encircles  the  greater 
part  of  its  homely  girth,  its  roads  are  made  of  coral  of  the  whitest, 
while  much  of  the  stone  of  its  houses  has  been  fashioned  by  the 
coral  polyp. 

Those  who  know  only  the  land  around  Bridgetown  will  say 
that  the  country  is  flat  and  monotonous,  and  that  it  consists 
merely  of  blinding  highways  toiling  through  tiresome  tracts  of 
cane  and  cotton,  of  cotton  and  cane. 

It  is  true  that  the  trees  are  limited  to  the  wilds,  to  the  villages, 
and  to  the  planters'  settlements,  but  there  are  downs  of  golden- 
green  grass  as  well  as  hollows  dappled  with  yams,  sweet  potatoes, 
and  maize.  Moreover,  a  hundred  acres  of  rustling  sugar-canes 
thrown  into  waves  and  eddies  by  the  rollicking  trade  wind  is  no 
mean  sight,  while  a  field  of  sea-island  cotton  in  bloom  is,  from 
afar,  not  unlike  a  thicket  of  Gloire  de  Dijon  roses. 

Towards  the  north  of  the  island  are  hills,  some  of  which  rise  to 
the  height  of  i  lOO  feet.  They  are  part  of  a  great  upland  which  is 
cleft,  as  by  a  hatchet,  along  its  eastern  side  so  as  to  leave  a  raw 
inland  cliff,  whose  precipitous  wall  faces  the  Atlantic  for  many 
a  mile.  From  any  point  on  the  brink  of  the  escarpment  a 
marvellous  view  extends.  The  most  perfect  prospect  is  from 
a  spot  called  Hackelston's  Cliff.  Here,  from  a  height  of  nearly 
looo  feet,  one  looks  down  suddenly  upon  an  immense  leafy  plain 
stretching  away  to  the  sea,  upon  a  green  under-world  submerged 
fathoms  deep  in  a  blue  iiaze. 

C 


i8  THE   CRADLE    OF   THE    DEEP. 

The  view  is  like  a  view  from  a  balloon.  On  the  flat  are  squares 
of  pale  green  to  mark  the  cane  brakes,  glistening  splashes  of  holly- 
leaf  green  to  show  the  bread-fruit  trees,  a  waving  patch  of  banana 
fans,  dots  of  grey  where  are  negro  cabins,  and  now  and  then  the 
curve  of  a  white  road  shaded  by  palms.  Beyond  is  the  beach 
where  the  great  purple  combers  from  the  ocean  roll  in  to  break 
upon  the  reef  with  a  noise  like  the  crack  of  a  gun. 

This  little  world  lying  at  one's  feet  is  shut  in  towards  the  north 
by  maniature  mountains,  a  range  of  dwarfed  Scottish  Highlands 
made  up  of  diminutive  peaks  and  ridges,  of  cols  and  valleys  all 
glorious  with  every  tint  that  grass  in  shadow  and  in  the  sun  can 
give.  From  the  crest  of  Farley  Hill  it  is  possible  to  look  down 
upon  this  tumbled  country  as  upon  a  contour  map,  and  to  imagine 
Ben  Nevis  and  Lochnagar  en  modele^  with  the  tracks  of  tarns,  the 
clefts  of  summit  passes,  and  the  cups  of  mountain  lakes. 

Near  by  Hackelston's  Cliff  I  came  upon  a  grinning  negro  lad 
who  enjoyed  an  office  most  boys  would  have  taken  much  to  heart. 
He  might  have  been  called  the  "  warden  of  the  monkeys."  At  the 
foot  of  the  precipice,  in  one  of  the  few  shreds  left  of  the  primeval 
forest,  dwell  a  number  of  apes  who  creep  up  the  cliff  on  occasion 
and  make  desperate  raids  among  the  bananas  and  sweet  potatoes. 
It  was  the  warden's  duty  to  watch  for  the  marauders,  to  spy  them 
out  as  they  peered  over  the  brim  of  the  cliff,  to  let  them  advance 
almost  to  the  fields,  and  then  to  fall  upon  them  with  shrieks  and 
stones  and  drive  them  over  the  precipice  in  jabbering  disorder. 
It  was  with  sincere  feeling  that  the  warden  said  "he  liked  his 
work." 

Not  far  from  Hackelston's  Point  is  St.  John's  Church,  one  of 
the  oldest  churches  of  the  island.  It  is  a  solid  English-looking 
building,  with  a  square  tower,  battlements  and  heavy  buttresses. 
It  stands  on  the  very  brink  of  the  cliff,  over-looking  the  same  far- 
away flat  and  the  same  long  lines  of  beach  and  reef.  About  it  is 
a  graveyard,  facing  seawards,  full  of  ancient  tombs,  many  of  which 
belong  to  two  centuries  ago.  More  than  one  monument  testifies 
to  the  deadly  climate  of  times  gone  by,  and  tells  of  wives  who 
died  "  in  a  moment "  and  "  in  the  bloom  of  youth." 


THE    INLAND   CLIFF  AND  THE   SEA   BEACHES.    19 

One  tablet  bears  the  following  unusual  inscription  : 

Here  lyeth  ye  Body  of 

FERDINANDO    PALEOLOGUS 

Descended  from  ye  Imperial  lyne 

OF  YE  Last  Christian 

Emperors  of  Greece. 

Churchwarden  of  this  Parish,  1655-1656. 

Vestryman  20  years.    Died  Oct.  3RD,  1678. 

This  imperial  vestryman  should  sleep  soundly,  for  the  church- 
yard in  which  he  rests  is  passing  beautiful.  Here  fall  the  shadows 
of  royal  palms,  of  lofty  crotons,  of  swaying  casuarinas,  of  hibiscus 
bushes  aflame  with  crimson  blossoms.  By  the  church  wall  stand 
Eucharis  lilies,  over  the  rusted  railings  fall  jessamine  and 
stephanotis,  while  between  the  gravestones  are  ferns  and  grasses 
and  an  uninvited  company  of  homely  flowers.  During  the  church 
service,  when  all  is  still,  there  can  be  ever  heard— borne  by  the 
trade  wind — the  muffled  roar  of  the  surf 

Far  away  to  the  north  of  the  island,  fifteen  miles  from  the 
town,  and  on  the  flat  between  the  inland  cliff  and  the  sea,  is  a  dell 
full  of  trees.  What  lies  hidden  in  this  quiet  oasis  no  stranger 
could  guess.  It  can  hardly  shelter  a  planter's  house  as  no  sugar- 
mill  chimney  is  in  sight.  There  is  no  church  spire  to  be  seen  nor 
is  there,  indeed,  even  a  glimpse  of  a  roof. 

The  visitor  who  follows  the  road  into  the  wood  finds  himself 
in  an  avenue  of  palms.  This  avenue  skirts  a  lawn  and  such  a 
lake  as  may  be  found  in  many  an  English  park.  So  far  there 
is  little  that  is  amazing,  but,  sauntering  in  the  drive,  are  some 
youths  in  college  caps  and  gowns.  As  unexpected  are  these 
undergraduates  as  would  be  cocoanut  trees  in  Oxford. 

At  the  end  of  the  walk  is  a  solemn  edifice  of  dull  stone, 
severely  academic,  and  not  to  be  distinguished  from  the  buildings 
familiar  to  an  English  university  town.  The  place  is,  indeed, 
Codrington  College  (a  college  of  the  University  of  Durham), 
which  was  founded  as  long  ago  as  17 10. 

Opening  upon  the  avenue  is  a  stone  cloister,  through  the 
pillared  arches  of  which  can  be  seen  the  Atlantic  and  the  waves 

c  2 


20  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

breaking  on  the  coral  reef.  In  the  shadow  of  the  arcade  is  an 
English  girl  in  white  talking  to  a  small  parrot  perched  on  her 
finger,  and  exciting  by  such  speech  the  jealousy  of  a  yapping 
dachshund  at  her  feet.  This  lady  of  the  porch  is  the  principal's 
daughter.  It  would  seem  as  if  there  had  been  transported  to  this 
far-away  West  Indian  island  a  corner  of  a  cathedral  close,  and 
when  the  organ  in  the  chapel  pours  forth  a  hymn  of  the  old 
country  the  impression  is  made  magical. 

The  college  chapel  is  exquisite — for  its  walls  are  lined  with 
mahogany  and  cedar  wood,  while  its  benches  are  of  that  old 
type  which  recall  the  village  church  of  bygone  days.  The  marble 
floor  has  been  cracked  and  scarred  by  the  hurricane  of  1831, 
which  tore  off  the  chapel  roof  and  filled  its  aisles  with  wreckage. 
The  library  is  stored  with  books  of  a  kind  one  would  hardly 
expect  to  meet  with  on  a  coral  island — works  on  theology  and 
conic  sections,  together  with  the  writings  of  Sallust  and  Cicero, 
of  .^schylus  and  Euripides.  A  pleasant  sanctuary  this  for  the 
budding  scholar  who  will  recall  in  after  life  that  he  first  read 
the  Odes  of  Horace  under  West  Indian  palms,  and  was  disturbed 
in  his  imaginings  of  ancient  Rome  by  the  vagaries  of  humming- 
birds. 

The  college  gardens  are  the  most  beautiful  in  the  island,  are 
vivid  with  the  tints  of  tropical  flowers,  and  hide,  moreover,  in 
their  depths  a  swimming  pool  which  is  as  the  shadow  of  a  rock 
in  a  weary  land. 

Hard  by  the  college  is  the  principal's  lodge,  the  original 
Codrington  mansion,  which  was  built  in  1660  and  has  seen  and 
survived  some  famous  hurricanes.  It  is  a  picturesque  building 
of  weather-worn  stone  with,  in  front  of  it,  a  stately  loggia  whose 
arches  and  columns  are  overgrown  with  ferns,  woodbine,  jessamine 
and  stephanotis.  Within  is  a  doorway,  flanked  on  either  side  by 
classic  pillars  worthy  of  an  abbey,  upon  whose  stones  the  sun 
and  the  rain  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  have  wrought  tints 
of  warm  brown,  while  weeds  have  picked  out  the  joints  of  the 
masonry  with  many  a  splash  of  green.  The  slaves  who  built 
this  place  may  well  have  wondered  at  the  magnificence  of  it. 


THE    INLAND   CLIFF  AND  THE   SEA   BEACHES.    21 

The  founder  of  the  college,  Christopher  Codrington,  was 
"Captain-General  of  the  Leeward  Caribbee  Islands."  It  was  his 
wish  that  the  school  should  be  devoted  to  "  the  study  and  practice 
of  divinity,  physic,  and  chirurgery."  In  1742  the  original  college 
was  opened,  and  in  1875  was  affiliated  to  the  University  of  Durham. 
It  has  done  admirable  work,  can  boast  a  long  list  of  distinguished 
alumni,  and  under  the  present  able  principal,  Archdeacon  Bindley, 
flourishes  with  persistent  vigour.^ 

The  shore  scenery  of  Barbados  shows  great  variety.  On  the 
north  and  east  of  the  island  the  coast  is  wizen  and  rugged. 
Here  are  low  cliffs  of  coral  rock  wrought  into  fantastic  capes 
and  hollows  by  the  sea,  or  so  gnawed  at  that  a  great  gap  in 
the  bank  has  been  in  places  bitten  out.  At  Crane  comes  such  a 
gap  wherein  is  a  gusty  beach  edged  about  with  cocoanut  palms 
and  nearly  filled  with  bushes  of  the  sea-grape  or  with  sprawling 
masses  of  creepers. 

Here,  as  elsewhere,  the  sea  assumes  strange  and  unexpected 
tints ;  it  may  be  violet,  purple  or  maroon,  with  streaks  of  lettuce- 
green  or  forget-me-not  blue,  or  may  show  a  stretch  of  brilliant 
lustre  such  as  shines  on  a  beetle's  back,  or  may  shimmer  into  a  lake 
of  lapis  lazuli.  In  calm  days  the  water  over  the  reef  will  be  lilac- 
or  even  claret-coloured,  or  may  take  the  hue  of  the  nether  side  of 
a  mushroom,  while  within  the  reef  is  that  vivid  green  which  can 
be  looked  down  into  from  the  stern  of  a  steamer  among  the 
coiling  eddies  thrown  up  by  the  screw.  It  is  indeed  in  these 
West  Indian  islands  that 

The  rainbow  lives  in  the  curve  of  the  sand. 

At  Bathsheba  immense  curiously  shaped  rocks  fringe  the  beach, 
so  that  the  whole  coast  in  this  romantic  part  of  the  island  is  as 
the  co^st  of  Cornwall  in  miniature.  Along  the  south  and  west 
borders  of  the  island  winds  a  quiet  strand,  with  many  a  creek  and 
cove.  Certain  of  the  curving  bays  are  shaded  by  thickets  of 
trees  which  crowd   to  the   very  margin  of  the  shore.     Some  are 

'  See    Article    \>y    the    Venerable    Archdeacon    Bindley,    D.  D.,    in    .1/iic//n7/au\ 
Magazine,  December  1892. 


22  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

inviting,  modest-looking  trees,  which  call  to  mind  the  orchard 
trees  in  England.  They  bear,  moreover,  a  small  green  fruit,  an 
apple,  which  might  tempt  a  thirsty  man.  Woe  to  him  if  he 
yields,  if  even  the  temptress  be  Eve  !  For  these  are  the  manchineel, 
the  poison  trees  ;  the  shade  they  offer  is  tainted  ;  their  leaves 
will  blister  the  skin  ;  their  fruit  will  turn  to  worse  than  ashes  in 
the  mouth ;  their  innocence  is  feigned,  for  the  orchard  by  the 
sea  is  an  upas  grove,  shunned  by  every  living  thing  except  the 
land  crab. 

Nelson,  in  his  early  days,  was  made  very  ill  by  drinking  from 
a  pool  into  which  some  branches  of  manchineel  had  been  thrown. 
In  the  opinion  of  some  his  health  "received  thereby  a  severe  and 
lasting  injury." 

On  the  west  coast  is  Hole  Town,  the  most  inviting  little 
settlement  in  the  island.  It  was  once  the  capital  of  Barbados 
(page  9).  It  is  now  a  lovable  town  of  two  tiny  streets,  sleeping 
out  its  life  in  a  bower  of  leaves  by  the  shore.  A  shop,  a  post- 
office,  and  a  worn  jetty  represent  the  public  buildings  in  this  most 
unambitious  hamlet.  The  two  small  streets  open  on  the  sea,  on 
a  smooth  cove  of  biscuit-coloured  sand.  Trees  line  the  whole 
sweep  of  the  bay  from  cape  to  cape.  They  hide  the  half-forgotten 
town  although  it  lies  so  near  the  water  that  when  the  west  wind 
blows  the  spray  will  scud  along  the  child-like  boulevard.  The 
beach  is  such  an  one  as  the  sea  seems  to  love,  for  each  wave  as  it 
comes,  lingers  over  it,  fondles  it,  sweeping  slowly  up  the  smooth 
slope  and  dropping  reluctantly  back  again. 

An  air  of  great  leisure  settles  upon  this  lotus-eater's  town. 
But  few  of  its  folk  are  to  be  seen.  In  the  shade  of  the  trees,  at 
the  edge  of  the  shore,  a  solitary  man  is  building  a  boat.  There 
is  such  simplicity  in  his  methods,  and  such  scantiness  in  his 
clothing,  that  he  might  be  Robinson  Crusoe  fashioning  his  canoe 
on  the  famous  island. 

On  this  very  beach  landed  the  inquisitive  crew  of  the 
Olive  Blossome  just  300  years  ago  (page  8),  and  as  the  cove 
was  then  so  it  is  now,  the  same  inviting  curve  of  tree-encircled 
sand,  the  same  listless  solitude.     On  just  such  a  tree  as  stands 


THE    INLAND   CLIFF  AND  THE   SEA   BEACHES.    23 

there  yet  the  famous  legend  was  writ,  while  here,  within  a  halo 
of  green,  is  a  place  well  fitted  for  the  wooden  cross.  Beyond  the 
nodding  town  are  low  downs,  so  like  some  uplands  in  Kent  that 
they  may  well  have  enticed  the  Englishmen  to  make  a  landing. 

By  the  side  of  the  high  road  a  recently  erected  obelisk  records 
the  coming  ashore  of  the  boat  and  the  annexation  of  the  island  ; 
while  on  one  of  the  postage  stamps  of  the  colony  is  a  picture 
of  the  gallant  Olive  Blossome  herself,  with  all  her  sails  set  and 
with  the  flag  of  England  aloft  on  her  poop. 


24        THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP. 


V. 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON   AND  ANOTHER  AT   BARBADOS. 

George  Washington  visited  Barbados  in  1751,  when  he  was  a 
lad  of  nineteen.  He  came  over  from  Virginia  with  his  brother 
Lawrence,  who  had  developed  a  lung  trouble,  for  which  he  was 
advised  to  try  the  West  Indies.  The  journey  across  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico  and  along  the  Caribbean  Sea  occupied  them  a  little  more 
than  a  month.  The  two  brothers  stayed  at  a  house  overlooking 
Carlisle  Bay,  about  a  mile  from  Bridgetown,  and  owned  by  a 
Captain  Crofton,  the  commandant  of  Fort  James. 

They  had  not  been  in  the  island  more  than  fourteen  days 
when  George  was  laid  low  with  the  smallpox.  The  attack  was 
not  severe,  but  he  bore  the  marks  of  the  disease  upon  his  face  to 
the  end  of  his  days. 

Jt  was  at  Barbados  that  George  Washington,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  visited  a  theatre.  It  pleased  him.  The  play  he 
saw  acted  was  the  austere  tragedy  of  "  George  Barnwell."  This 
drama  was  supposed  to  be  of  a  very  improving  nature,  and 
especially  suited  to  young  men.  It  pointed  a  moral  boisterously 
and  with  as  much  directness  as  is  employed  in  driving  a  pile  into 
the  solid  earth.  George  Barnwell  was  an  idle  apprentice  who, 
after  robbing  his  master,  passed  through  the  various  Hogarthian 
stages  of  vice,  and  finally  committed  murder,  for  which  crime  he 
was  hanged.  His  last  moments  were  peculiarly  embittered  by 
the  reflection  that  his  sweetheart  was  to  be  hanged  at  the  same 
time,  he  having-  as  an  item  of  his  wickedness — led  her  astray. 

During  his  sojourn  in  the  island  George  Washington  enjoyed 
the  hospitality  of  the  "  Beefsteak  and  Tripe  Club."  He  was 
introduced  to  this  exclusive  company  by  the  judge  of  the 
High  Court  of  Barbados.     The  members  of  the  club  met  every 


GEORGE   WASHINGTON    AT   BARBADOS.         25 

Saturday  at  one  or  other  of  their  respective  houses.  Over 
the  beefsteaks  and  the  tripe  the  future  statesman  made  the 
acquaintance  of  "  the  first  people  of  the  place."  There  seems 
to  have  been  no  meanness  about  the  members  of  the  club,  and 
no  stint  in  the  matter  of  food  or  drink,  George  Washington, 
indeed,  went  away  rather  distressed  by  the  spendthrift  habits  of 
his  hosts,  and  by  their  luxuriant  mode  of  living.  A  heavy 
dinner  of  beefsteaks,  tripe  and  rum,  held  at  three  of  the  clock 
on  a  tropical  afternoon,  was  a  luxury  for  which  the  simple 
Virginian  had  little  taste. 

Barbados  has  welcomed  many  other  illustrious  persons  besides 
George  Washington.  Nelson  was  for  a  period  stationed  in  Carlisle 
Bay.  His  stay  there  was  very  irksome,  for  he  was  at  the  time  in 
love  with  the  pretty  widow  at  Nevis.  He  chafed  because  he  was 
kept  so  far  away  from  her  presence,  and  exclaims  wearily  in  his 
letters,  "  Upwards  of  a  month  from  Nevis  !  " — as  if  a  month  were 
a  lifetime.  He  blamed  the  little  colony  for  holding  him  from 
the  arms  of  his  Fanny,  and  took  a  sarcastic  pleasure  in  heading 
some  of  his  love  letters  "  Barbarous  Island." 

Not  a  few  of  the  natives  of  Barbados  have  attained  to  various 
positions  of  eminence,  but  among  those  who  can  only  claim  to 
have  become  notable,  prominence  must  be  given  to  Major 
Stede  Bonnet.  The  major  was  among  "  the  first  people  of 
the  place."  He  was  a  gentleman  by  birth  who  had  had  the 
advantage  of  a  liberal  education.  He  was  rich — being,  indeed, 
"  the  master  of  a  plentiful  fortune."  Naturally,  he  was  much 
respected  in  the  island,  where  he  enjoyed  all  the  privileges  of 
a  prominent  citizen.  Although  the  records  are  silent  upon  the 
subject,  it  is  conceivable  that  he  was  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  little 
church  at  Bridgetown. 

Some  time  in  the  year  17 16  Major  Stede  Bonnet  began  to  act 
strangely.  He  incontinently  purchased  a  sloop,  fitted  her  with 
ten  guns  at  his  own  expense,  and  engaged  a  crew  of  no  less 
than  seventy  men.  This  was  very  surprising  to  his  friends  as 
the  gallant  officer  had  no  knowledge  of  the  sea,  while  yachting 
was   not  then   an  accepted   diversion   for   people  of  quality.     It 


26        THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP. 

was  hardly  to  be  supposed  that  a  gentleman  occupying  the 
major's  position  would  condescend  to  engage  in  commerce,  and 
still  more  curious  was  it  that,  at  this  particular  moment,  England 
did  not  chance  to  be  at  war. 

To  all  inquiries  as  to  his  intent  the  major  merely  answered 
"  Wait."  The  mystery  of  the  sloop  was  not  lessened  when  the 
shipwrights  began  to  paint  her  new  name  under  the  stern. 
Everybody  went  down  to  the  careenage  to  spell  it  out,  letter  by 
letter,  as  it  developed.     The  name  was  the  Revenge. 

By  the  time  that  the  members  of  the  Beefsteak  and  Tripe  Club 
were  talking  of  nothing  else  but  the  major  and  his  vessel,  the 
Revenge  slipped  out  of  Carlisle  Bay,  one  very  dark  night,  and 
disappeared  into  space.  The  sloop  became  the  theme  of  the 
quay-side.  Barbados  had  much  to  say  about  vanishing  ships, 
while  sympathetic  neighbours  who  called  upon  the  forlorn 
Mrs.  Stede  Bonnet  had  more  questions  to  ask  that  lady  than 
she  was  disposed  to  reply  to.  The  more  astute  females  of 
Bridgetown  whispered  that  Mrs.  Stede  Bonnet  had  something 
on  her  mind.     She  had. 

In  a  few  months  the  awful  truth  reached  the  island.  Major 
Stede  Bonnet,  the  wealthy  landowner,  the  respected  and  polished 
soldier,  had  become  a  pirate.  The  Revenge  was  cruising  off 
America,  taking  prizes  right  and  left.  She  had  become  the 
terror  of  New  York  and  Philadelphia,  for  the  major  had  the 
boldness  to  make  Gardner's  Islet,  off  Long  Island,  his  occasional 
headquarters. 

"  This  humour  of  going  a-pyrating,"  writes  Johnson  in  his 
"  History  of  the  Pyrates,"  "  it  was  believed  proceeded  from  a 
disorder  of  the  mind,  which  is  said  to  have  been  occasioned  by 
some  discomforts  to  be  found  in  the  married  state."  Things  were 
beginning  to  be  explained.  The  respectable  matrons  of  Barbados 
gathered  up  their  skirts  and  fell  away  from  Mrs.  Stede  Bonnet 
when  they  met  her  in  the  streets  of  Bridgetown.  They  could 
not  drink  a  dish  of  tea  with  a  pirate's  wife !  They  could  hardly 
be  constrained  to  sit  in  church  under  the  same  roof  as  the  associate 
of  corsairs.     There  were  many  friends  of  bygone  days  who  now 


MAJOR   STEDE   BONNET.  27 

owned  that  "  they  had  never  quite  liked  her,"  that  they  had  always 
thought  "  there  was  something  curious  about  her."  Those  among 
them  who  were  of  the  sect  of  the  Pharisees  audibly  thanked  God 
that  they  had  not  driven  their  husbands  "  to  go  a-pyrating."  There 
is  no  doubt  but  that  the  home  of  the  Bonnets  was  broken  up  for 
ever.  The  major's  grievances  must  have  been  very  deep  to  have 
led  him  to  give  to  his  ship  such  a  name  as  the  Revenge. 

In  the  meantime  the  soldier-pirate  was  not  happy.  He  fell  in 
with  one  Edward  Teach,  who  is  allowed  by  all  connoisseurs  to  have 
been  the  greatest  scoundrel  who  ever  flourished  in  the  buccaneering 
profession.  Mr.  Teach  not  only  took  the  poor  major  into  partner- 
ship against  his  will,  but  practically  absorbed  him,  ship,  crew  and 
all.  He  concluded  the  distasteful  alliance  by  robbing  him  of  the 
more  substantial  of  his  possessions.  This,  as  the  Stede  Bonnet 
biographer  asserts,  "  made  him  melancholy." 

The  melancholia  would  appear  to  have  marred  the  major's 
efficiency  as  a  practical  pirate,  for  he  was  captured  off  Carolina  in 
171 8.  He  was  taken  ashore,  but  managed  to  escape  in  a  canoe. 
So  highly  was  he  valued,  however,  that  70/.  was  offered  for  his 
arrest.  He  was  finally  seized  on  Swillivant's  Island  on  the  sixth 
day  of  November  in  the  year  named.  He  was  tried  at  Charles- 
ton four  days  later,  was  sentenced  to  death  and  promptly  hanged 
at  a  prominent  place  called  White  Point.  It  was  Judge  Trot  who 
passed  sentence  on  him,  and  it  seems  clear  that  this  gentleman 
added  great  unrest  to  the  major's  last  hours,  for  before  disposing 
of  the  culprit  he  treated  him  to  an  address  of  such  length  that  it 
occupies  six  closely  crammed  pages  of  print.  In  this  discourse 
the  learned  judge  improved  the  occasion  by  quoting  very  liberally 
from  the  Scriptures,  and  by  giving  fluent  advice  as  to  the  leading 
of  the  Higher  Life,  of  which  same  advice  the  major  was  to  be  so 
shortly  prevented  from  availing  himself  In  this  harangue,  which 
is  said  to  have  been  most  impressive,  Judge  Trot  made  no  allusion 
to  that  "disorder  of  the  mind,"  or  to  those  "discomforts  in  the 
married  state  "  which  led  the  major  to  seek  refuge  in  the  distrac- 
tions of  buccaneering,  and  which  may  have  been  advanced  in  some 
palliation  of  his  offence. 


28  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE    DEEP. 


VI. 

THE   ISLANDERS. 

The  negro  population  of  Barbados  have  learnt  stern  lessons  on 
such  subjects  as  the  survival  of  the  fittest,  the  effects  of  a  generous 
birth-rate  and  the  limitations  of  an  island.  They  have  crowded 
the  fatherland  to  its  brink,  have  grubbed  up  and  tilled  every  yard 
of  its  surface,  and  have  only  left  it  when  they  have  been  practically 
pushed  into  the  sea.  They  have  become,  by  force  of  circumstances 
and  against  their  natural  inclination,  both  a  hard-working  and  a 
frugal  folk.  They  have  learnt  that  patriotism  and  a  clinging  to 
home  may  mean  both  an  empty  stomach  and  a  bare  back. 

Only  of  late  years  has  the  Barbadian  accepted  the  inevitable, 
and  reluctantly  sought  life  elsewhere.  There  is  now  scarcely  a 
quay  on  a  West  Indian  island  where  the  grinning  Barbadian  face 
will  not  be  met  with.  They  have  migrated  to  America  and  have 
turned  in  thousands  to  Panama,  whereby  it  has  come  to  pass  that 
labour  is  now  not  too  plentiful  in  the  colony,  and  the  English 
housewife  has  begun  to  experience  that  dearth  of  good  servants 
which  has  long  been  acute  in  England. 

The  negro  in  Barbados — as  in  other  islands  of  the  West  Indies 
— is  the  descendant  of  slaves  brought  over  from  the  adjacent  coast 
of  Africa.  The  days  of  their  bondage  are  not  so  long  ago,  for 
slavery  was  abolished  in  English  colonies  as  recently  as  1834. 
Traces  of  old  days  are  constantly  to  be  come  upon.  Certain  of 
the  substantial  little  houses  built  for  the  "  blacks "  are  yet  to 
be  found,  while  on  all  sides  the  products  of  slave  labour  are  in 
evidence. 


THE    ISLANDERS.  29 

Turning  over  old  island  newspapers,  one  meets  with  such  an 
announcement  as  this  : 

"58  Negro  Slaves  and  24  Head  of  Cattle  for  Sale," 

in  the  reading  of  which  it  is  impossible  not  to  be  struck  with 
the  delicacy  which  places  the  slaves  before  the  cattle.  In  the 
"Barbadian"  for  December  17,  1824,  I  noticed  the  following 
paragraph,  which  is  bracketed  with  one  dealing  with  the  sale 
of  "  A  Handsome  Horse  "  : 

"For  Sale! 
"  A   young    Negro    Woman,  a  good    house-servant,  with    her 
infant  child,  two  months  old." 

If  the  infant  ever  reached  the  age  of  seventy  he  would  have 
been  living  in  1894,  and,  should  he  have  had  a  child,  the  same 
might  be  flourishing  on  the  island  at  this  moment,  possibly  as 
a  waiter  or  a  chambermaid  at  the  hotel.  If  he  or  she  talked 
of  "grandmother,"  it  would  be  of  this  same  young  negro  woman 
who  was  so  good  a  house-servant,  and  who  was  offered  for  sale 
with  the  handsome  horse. 

The  subjoined  item  from  the  "  Barbados  Mercury  "  of  the  dat<* 
of  August  4,  1787,  is  also  of  interest  : 

"  Run  away  from  the  subscriber,  a  tall  black  man  namtd 
'  Willy ' :  whoever  will  deliver  him  to  the  subscriber  shall 
receive  one  moidore  reward." 

Now  I  take  the  moidore  to  be  equivalent  to  the  sum  of  twenty- 
seven  shillings,  therefore,  Willy,  in  spite  of  his  tallness,  would 
have  been  little  more  in  value  than  a  pet  dog.  Indeed,  I  have 
seen  the  reward  of  two  pounds  offered  for  a  runaway  cat.  It  is 
much  to  be  hoped  that  Willy  never  came  back  to  the  subscriber, 
but  that  he  hid  his  pound  and  a  half's  worth  of  flesh  in  the  jungle 
by  the  Inland  Cliff  and  there  ended  his  days  in  peace. 

When  slavery  was  abolished,  Parliament  voted  a  sum  of  money 
to  be  paid  to  owners  as  compensation  for  setting  their  slaves  at 
liberty.  The  total  sum  thus  expended  in  the  salvation  of  men 
was  nearly  nineteen  millions  sterling.  The  number  of  slaves  set 
free  was  no  less  than  770,280. 


30        THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP. 

They  were  probably  the  only  human  beings  who  ever  came  to 
know  precisely  what  they  were  worth,  or  what  was  their  value  in 
the  eyes  of  others,  for  in  the  carrying  out  of  the  Act  the  value  of 
each  type  of  slave  had  to  be  defined  with  great  exactness. 

A  first-class  field  hand  was  priced  at  ;^94,  a  domestic  servant 
at  ;^82.  It  may  be  imagined  that  many  a  dignified  black  butler, 
who  appraised  himself  at,  at  least,  ^800,  must  have  been  hurt  by 
this  low  figure.  The  vexation  of  the  handsome  negress  who  found 
that  she  was  valued  at  some  £2  less  than  her  ill -looking  co-workei 
must  have  been  peculiarly  bitter.  Children  under  six  fetched 
^^13  Y^s.  ^d.  on  an  average.  "Aged,  diseased,  and  otherwise 
non-effective  adults"  were  lumped  together,  like  soiled  goods 
at  a  sale,  and  priced  at  £\o  Sj.  ^\d.  each.  In  this  estimate  of 
the  value  of  a  marred  human  life  there  is  a  lamentable  pathos 
about  the  farthing. 

Although  the  Barbadian  blacks  must  have  been  compounded  at 
the  outset  from  different  African  tribes,  it  is  remarkable  that,  by 
reason  of  their  exclusiveness,  they  have  developed  into  a  definite 
race,  with  an  easily  recognised  physiognomy  and  dialect  A  head 
that  is  large  and  round  and  that  is  associated  with  an  "  open 
countenance  "  constitutes  the  "  Barbadian  head  "  ;  while  the  English 
the  people  affect  to  speak  is  the  most  curious  phase  that  tongue 
can  ever  have  assumed.  To  untrained  British  ears  it  is  not 
intelligible,  while  even  the  cry  of  the  children,  who  hold  out  their 
hands  and  grin  "  gimme  a  pension,"  needs  to  be  explained  as  a 
demand  for  a  penny. 

The  Barbadian  negro  is  a  fine  specimen  of  humanity.  The 
man  may  not  be  noteworthy,  but  the  woman  is  a  model  of 
anatomical  comeliness.  She  has  well-moulded  limbs,  perfect  teeth 
and  the  eyes  of  the  "  ox-eyed  Juno."  Her  neck  and  shoulders 
belong  to  the  women  of  heroic  days,  while  the  carriage  of  her 
head  and  the  swing  of  her  arms  as  she  walks  along  the  road  are 
worthy  of  the  gait  of  queens.  She  is  as  talkative  as  a  parrot,  her 
smile  is  that  of  a  child  at  a  pantomime,  and  without  her  the  West 
Indian  island  would  lose  half  of  its  picturesqueness.  She  is  the 
life  of  the  gaudy  market  square,  while  her  black  face  may  appear 


THE    ISLANDERS.  31 

almost  beautiful  w  hen  seen  against  the  pale  green  background  of 
a  thicket  of  cane.  She  works  hard  and  is  strong.  Her  disposi- 
tion is  to  carry  everything,  great  or  little,  upon  her  head.  Thus 
I  have  met  an  old  woman  bearing  aloft  on  her  skull  a  full-sized 
chest  of  drawers  and  not  far  behind  her  a  young  housewife  with 
a  slice  of  green  melon  on  the  black  mat  of  her  hair — an  offering 
to  her  husband  in  the  fields. 

The  normal  costume  of  the  negress  is  a  frock  of  white, 
stiffened  with  cassava,  and  a  white  scarf  or  kerchief  bound  turban- 
wise  about  her  forehead.  Her  woolly  hair  is  covered  by  the  linen 
cap,  and  as  her  white  teeth  are  always  gleaming — for  she  needs 
must  smile — she  forms  a  graceful  figure  sketched  boldly  in  black 
and  white. 

It  is  curious  to  see  in  these  dark  faces  classic  types  of  woman- 
hood which  custom  has  made  the  European  to  associate  only  with 
a  fair  skin.  Here,  for  instance,  sitting  on  a  cabin  step,  crooning 
over  her  baby,  is  a  rapt  Madonna  in  ebony.  Leaning  over  a 
railing  and  swinging  a  scarlet  hibiscus  blossom  before  her  lover's 
face  is  a  coal-black  Juliet,  in  an  ecstasy  of  fondness.  In  the 
market  place,  in  a  vortex  of  violent  speech,  is  a  terrible  virago 
with  the  seams  of  her  features  cut  out  of  jet,  urging  her  husband, 
a  timid  Macbeth,  to  avenge  certain  wrongs  incident  to  the  selling 
of  yams. 

Unhappily,  the  negress  of  Barbados  is  discarding  her  own 
charming  costume  in  order  to  assume,  with  great  seriousness,  the 
attire  of  Europe.  The  result  is  deplorable,  for  so  eager  is  the 
blackamoor  to  be  done  with  the  past  that  she  becomes,  in  a  sense, 
almost  too  European.  Unconsciously  she  intensifies  every  feature 
of  northern  dress,  making  each  item  ridiculous.  She  caricatures 
the  lady  of  the  London  parks,  so  that  any  who  wish  to  see  their 
faults  displayed  through  the  medium  of  exaggeration  can  have  the 
distorting  mirror  held  up  to  them  in  Barbados. 

The  coloured  lady  omits  nothing.  She  holds  her  skirts  in  the 
manner  of  the  moment,  but,  as  the  mincing  mode  is  apt  to  be 
overdone  and  as  clothing  in  the  tropics  is  thin,  the  effect  is  often 
curious.     Although  accustomed  to  a  blazing  sun  the  whole  year 


32  THE   CRADLE   OF  THE   DEEP. 

through,  and  although  her  race  comes  from  near  the  "  Hne,"  the 
modern  negress  cannot  be  seen  on  Sunday  without  a  sunshade 
which  she  will  hold  up  even  if  the  sky  be  grey.  She  must  not 
fail  to  wear  a  veil,  though  no  exposure  to  the  eye  of  day  can  spoil 
her  complexion  or  add  a  deeper  tint  to  the  shadows  of  her  skin. 

The  chief  difficulties  in  the  way  of  perfect  mimicry  are 
anatomical,  being  dependent  upon  the  waist,  hair  and  feet.  The 
European  waist  has  been  trained  for  centuries  to  follow  certain 
lines  of  deformity,  but  the  waist  of  the  negress  is  that  of  the 
Venus  of  Milo  and  it  resents  the  disfigurement  very  stoutly. 

The  hair  problem  is  much  more  grave,  and  is  indeed  almost 
insurmountable.  The  astrachan-like  wool  on  the  black  lady's  head 
can  be  changed  by  no  known  art  into  anything  that  could  be  coiled 
or  braided.  The  fight  with  the  woolliness  of  wool  in  Barbados  is 
desperate  and  discouraging.  A  young  girl's  hair  is  worked  out 
into  little  tags  which  hang  about  her  worried  skull  like  black  curl 
papers.  These  are  intended  to  represent  tresses,  but  although 
they  could  not  deceive  an  infant  they  are  diligently  toiled  at  by 
ambitious  mothers.  By  a  bolder  display  and  higher  flight  of  art 
a  bow  is  fixed  somehow  to  the  nape  of  the  neck,  to  foster  the 
delusion  that  it  ties  up  raven  locks.  Some  ingenious  women  have 
cut  or  carved  out  of  the  solid  wool  on  their  heads  the  figures  of 
braided  coils,  just  as  a  pattern  is  clipped  out  of  a  poodle's  back. 
These  carvings  are  made  realistic  by  the  addition  of  many  combs 
which  suggest  that  they  prevent  the  "  coming  down  "  of  hair  which 
would  not  be  ruffled  by  a  hurricane  nor  disturbed  by  the  thickest 
bramble  bush. 

There  is  an  article  of  the  European  coiffure  called  a  "slide," 
a  species  of  brooch  used  to  keep  in  order  any  wayward  hairs  about 
the  nape  of  the  neck.  No  self-respecting  negress  is  without  one 
of  these  controllers  of  stray  locks,  although  in  her  case  it  is  the 
hair  that  keeps  the  slide  in  place  and  not  the  slide  the  hair. 
Indeed  there  is  more  suggestion,  more  pretence,  more  fancy  about 
the  head  adorning  of  a  negress  than  about  a  Japanese  garden. 

The  skull  of  the  mulatto  shows  varying  grades  between  wool 
and  hair,  and  as  the  difference  widens  so  does  the  brown  woman 


THE   ISLANDERS.  33 

attain  nearer  to  the  standard  of  perfection.  She  becomes  an 
object  of  envy,  since  a  higher  walk  in  Hfe  and  a  loftier  social  status 
may  be  reached  by  even  three  inches  of  reasonably  straight  hair. 
To  the  Barbadian,  indeed,  combs  are  more  than  coronets  and 
lanky  locks  than  Norman  blood. 

The  foot  problem  is  also  serious.  The  negro  having  found 
no  need  for  boots  has  wisely  worn  none,  but  as  bare  feet  are  de  trop 
in  Park  Lane  so  they  must  not  tread  the  coral  paths  of  Barbados. 
There  is  no  affectation  about  the  feet  of  a  negress,  no  pretence  that 
they  may  be  mistaken  for  "  little  mice  stealing  in  and  out  beneath 
her  petticoat."  They  are  practical  feet  of  serviceable  size,  but  by 
some  means  or  another,  groans  or  no  groans,  they  must  be  forced 
into  cheap  American  shoes,  and  the  graceful  elastic  walk  must 
degenerate  into  the  mechanical-toy  mode  of  progress  affected  by 
the  higher  civilisation. 

This  attempt  to  be  up  to  date  involves  such  general  suffering 
that  it  is  not  considered  demode  with  the  smart  set  for  a  lady, 
when  returning  from  a  gymkhana,  to  take  off  her  shoes  and  open- 
work stockings  and  carry  them  in  her  hands.  I  am  told  that  in 
courts  of  law  the  manner  in  which  evidence  is  given  is  apt  to  be 
affected  by  boots  ;  so  that  an  uneasy  witness  is  often  invited  by 
the  Bench  to  remove  her  foot-gear.  If  a  bride  faints  at  the  altar, 
as  is  not  uncommon,  a  sympathetic  whisper  runs  through  the 
assembly,  not  to  "  give  her  air  "  or  "  unloosen  her  dress,"  but  to 
"  take  off  her  boots  "  ;  and  when  the  operation  has  been  carried  out 
in  the  vestry  the  nuptials  can  proceed,  although  the  young  wife 
may  never  recover  from  the  degradation  of  having  been  married 
in  stockings. 

If  the  negress  must  wear  boots,  she  should  wear  them  on  the 
top  of  her  well-balanced  head.  A  pair  of  crimson  satin  shoes 
with  gilded  heels  would  look  never  so  well  as  on  the  cushion  of 
her  woolly  hair. 

The  black  man  has  less  wide  fields  for  display  than  has  the 
black  woman.  He  is,  however,  strong  in  the  matter  of  neckties, 
scarf  pins  and  finger  rings.  He  is  strong,  too,  in  waistcoats,  which 
are  at  times  so  violent  in  colour  as  to  be  almost  explosive.     He 

D 


34        THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP. 

bases  his  model  in  dress  upon  a  blending  of  Margate  sands  with 
the  racecourse  at  Epsom.  He  cannot  appear  without  a  cigarette, 
nor  without  a  cane  which  he  carries  like  a  Guardsman. 

The  West  Indian  negroes  generally  are  a  healthy,  cheerful  and 
sober  people.  Professional  beggars  are  unknown  among  them,  as 
also  are  "  slum  children  "  and  the  counterpart  of  the  Whitechapel 
woman.  The  white  folk  who  live  in  their  midst  are  prone  to  say 
that  the  more  you  know  of  the  negro  the  less  you  like  him.  He 
has  certain  estimable  child-like  qualities,  it  is  true,  but  he  is  un- 
trustworthy and  idle,  while  his  misconceptions  of  honesty  and 
truth  are  inconvenient. 

If  left  to  himself  he  tends  to  degenerate,  for  the  spirit  of  the 
wild  has  not  yet  died  out  of  him.  In  up-country  districts  in  any 
of  the  islands  the  black  man  is  respectful  to  strangers,  but  in  the 
seaport  towns  he  is  apt  to  be  insolent  when  the  opportunity  offers. 
At  Roseau  in  Dominica,  for  example,  the  quayside  nigger  would 
appear  to  have  lapsed  into  savagery  if  the  experience  of  certain 
ladies  who  recently  landed  there  can  be  taken  as  an  instance. 

An  account  of  the  islanders  would  scarcely  be  complete  with- 
out mention  of  certain  other  living  things  which  serve  to  give 
character  to  the  colony.  Conspicuous  among  these  are  the  black 
birds — the  Barbadian  crows.  The  full  and  proper  title  of  these 
fowls  is  Quiscalus  Fortirostris.  They  go  about  in  companies,  being 
very  sociable.  They  are  jet  black  and  have  white  eyes.  Their 
neatness  and  trimness  are  immaculate.  They  look  like  a  number 
of  dapper  little  serving-men  in  black  liveries,  or  may  be  compared 
to  smart  vivacious  widows  with  indecorous  high  spirits.  Their 
curiosity  and  fussiness  can  only  be  matched  by  their  unceasing 
energy.  There  is  nothing  that  goes  on  in  the  streets  or  by  the 
roadside  which  fails  to  interest  them,  while  every  detail  of  their 
lives  appears  to  evoke  an  endless  chattering. 

The  Barbados  sparrow  is  another  very  sociable  and  pushing 
bird.  He  is  greenish-grey  in  tint,  but  what  he  lacks  in  brilliancy 
of  plumage  he  makes  up  in  impudence.  He  comes  to  the  early 
breakfast  in  the  bedroom,  hops  on  to  the  table  or  a  chair-back, 
and  if  he  is  not  served  at  once  with  sugar  or  banana  will  call  out 


THE    ISLANDERS.  35 

petulantly  like  an  old  man  at  a  club  who  is  kept  waiting  for  his 
lunch.  He  is  a  thief  by  conviction,  and  steals  for  the  mere 
pleasure  of  stealing. 

The  sugar-bird  is  not  so  common  as  either  of  these  two. 
Archdeacon  Bindley,  however,  tells  of  his  habits  and  of  his  ability 
to  make  himself  at  home.  He  drops  on  to  the  breakfast  table  as  if 
he  had  been  invited,  and  after  he  has  helped  himself  out  of  the 
sugar-basin  will,  as  likely  as  not,  proceed  to  take  a  bath  in  his 
host's  finger-bowl.' 

Another  flying  thing  is  the  flying-fish,  which  is  as  common  in 
the  fish  market  at  Bridgetown  as  is  the  herring  at  Yarmouth 
The  visitor  will  eat  him  with  curiosity  at  first,  but  when  it  becomes 
evident  that  no  meal  in  the  island  is  complete  without  flying-fish, 
under  some  guise  or  another,  the  novelty  abates. 

Finally,  Barbados  would  appear  to  be  that  West  Indian  island 
which  is  favoured  above  all  others  by  the  land  crab.  His  burrows 
are  to  be  seen  not  only  along  the  shore  but  by  the  side  of  every 
road  that  skirts  the  habitations  of  man.  He  takes  up  his  abode  in 
the  garden,  digs  his  tunnels  in  the  environs  of  the  house,  and  has 
turned  more  than  one  graveyard  into  a  miniature  rabbit  warren. 
He  is  an  unclean  beast,  his  habits  are  nasty,  and  any  contemplation 
of  his  precise  mode  of  living  is  of  a  kind  that  makes  the  flesh  creep. 
He  appears  occasionally  upon  the  dinner  table  as  an  article  of  diet. 
I  have  eaten  him  under  these  circumstances,  and  the  memory  of 
this  indiscretion  is  the  only  blot  in  my  West  Indian  experiences. 
I  feel  that  I  have  lost  all  right  to  criticise  people  who  eat  raw  fish, 
snails,  snakes  and  lizards. 

The  land  crab,  when  he  is  fully  grown,  is  about  the  size  of  the 
palm  of  the  hand.  In  Barbados  he  is  usually  of  a  cherry-red 
colour,  a  tint  which  compels  the  impression  that  he  is  distended 
to  bursting  with  unwholesome  blood.  He  is  shy — more  shy  than 
he  was  when  Amyas  Leigh  and  Salvation  Yeo  landed  at  Barbados 
on  their  journey  westward.  At  that  time  he  and  his  tribe  "sat  in 
their  house-doors  and  brandished  their  fists  in  defiance  at  the 
invaders."  He  is  agile,  his  legs  are  long  and  like  stilts  of  tin. 
'  The  Pilot,  October  5,  1901. 


36        THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP. 

When  he  walks  he  moves  with  a  parched,  scratching  sound  that  is 
horrible  to  hear,  and  that  suggests  the  fumbling  about  of  a  witch's 
nails, 

I  can  imagine  no  more  awful  awakening  than  that  which  would 
befall  the  exhausted  man  who,  having  dropped  asleep  by  the 
roadside  or  on  the  shore,  woke  to  find  these  dry,  crackling,  carrion- 
eaters  crawling  about  him  as  if  he  had  been  long  dead. 


I     1 1 

JjL.      jd^|^^|^^HJHQMlB|wr^       ^jfa^ 

■■i^ttii 

^H^^^Eb^^^^^^kT^               I             ^■1'       ^r  .^I^^^HI 

Hi 

^^HH^HfiS^r^^KU 

& 

^gJI 

B^VT  T'^^^K 

H^^^^^^^^^^H 

^D^H^^^fT^^B^^H 

^^Is^^^l 

^^1 

Ml 

rfl 

■^ 

^^HB                                  "  ■  **^\L^Sa 

a^ 

<s(^flil 

■ 

I^^B 

A     planter's     house,    BARBADOS. 

A  circle  of  Cabbage  Palms. 

VII. 

THE   PLANTERS   AND   THE   POOR   WHITES. 

It  is  in  Barbados  that  will  be  found  the  most  substantial  relics 
of  the  old  West  Indian  aristocracy,  of  the  planter  prince  who, 
in  the  days  of  slavery  and  dear  sugar,  held  court  in  the  island 
with  all  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  a  feudal  lord.  Here,  still 
clinging  to  the  same  broad  acres,  are  those  whose  ancestors  were 
among  the  early  landowners  in  the  colony.  Such  are  Alleyne  of 
Porters,  Drax  of  Drax  Hall,  Carrington  of  Carrington.  The  son 
is  educated  at  Eton  and  Oxford,  as  were  his  father  and  grand- 
father before  him,  and  in  the  fulness  of  time  takes  up  his  abode 
in  the  old  house — with  a  less  princely  income,  perhaps,  and  with 
longer  absences  in  the  old  country  -but  still  as  the  hereditary 
head  of  an  estate  which  has  been  associated  with  the  name  of 
his  family  for  generations. 

Most  of  these  possessions  date  back  to  the  time  of  the  great 
Civil  War,  when  squires  who  were  loyal  to  the  Stuart  cause 
left  England  to  seek  peace,  or  to  found  a  new  home  in  place 
of  the  shattered  hall  and  the  wasted  meads  confiscated  to  the 
Commonwealth. 

Those  were  spacious  times  when  the  lord  of  the  great  house 
would  go  to  church  in  a  coach  and  four  attended  by  an  escort 
of  slaves  in  stiff-necked  liveries,  and  when  the  lady  would  walk 
abroad  through  the  estate  with  one  black  lacquey  to  carry  her 
lap-dog  and  another  her  fan,  while  a  third  bore  respectfully  her 
case  of  simples  if  it  was  her  pleasure  to  visit  an  ancient  Uncle 
Tom  or  a  sick  Aunt  Chloii. 

A  French  missionary,  one  Pere  Labat,  when  he  visited 
Barbados  at  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century,  found  the 


38  THE   CRADLE   OF  THE   DEEP. 

island  overflowing  with  wealth,  the  harbour  full  of  ships,  and 
the  warehouses  crammed  with  goods  from  all  parts  of  the  world. 
To  his  thinking  the  jewellers'  and  the  silversmiths'  shops  in 
Bridgetown  were  as  brilliant  as  those  of  the  Paris  boulevards. 
He  noted  at  the  same  time,  as  a  hint  apparently  to  his  ever- 
watchful  nation,  that  the  island  was  imperfectly  fortified. 

There  are  traces  left  of  the  ancient  days  in  certain  fine  old 
mansions  which,  with  no  little  architectural  pretence,  show  as  strong 
a  leaning  to  the  type  of  the  English  country  house  as  the  tropics 
will  allow.  One  has  gone  to  such  servility  in  imitation  as  to 
possess  fireplaces  in  its  sitting-rooms.  Some  even  are  built  of 
stone  from  England  brought  over  as  the  ballast  of  brigs  and  barques 
that  sailed  from  Plymouth.  A  few  contain  pieces  of  the  heavily 
carved  furniture  of  bygone  days,  huge  presses,  sombre  four-post 
bedsteads,  ample  wine-coolers,  semi-rfe^al  plate,  with  possibly  old 
family  portraits  of  staid  men  whose  faces  are  wrinkled  by  many 
seasons  of  heat  or  seamed  by  the  maws  of  irreverent  worms. 

The  present-day  planter's  house  is  a  solid  building  of  plaster 
and  stone  hidden  among  trees  and  approached  by  an  avenue  of 
cabbage  palms,  of  which  the  owner  is  proud.  Around  the  house 
is  an  ample  stone  colonnade,  or  modern  verandah,  where  on  a 
table  lies  the  favourite  pipe.  There  is  nowhere  a  stinting  of 
space.  The  staircase  is  wide  and  easy  of  ascent ;  the  inner  walls 
are  not  all  carried  up  to  the  ceiling,  but  the  space  is  filled  in 
with  lattice-work  to  allow  a  free  passage  for  the  breeze.  Every 
window  is  jealously  sheltered  by  wooden  blinds.  The  rooms  are 
consequently  dark,  for  the  sun  is  an  abhorred  thing.  Carpets 
are  rare  because  creeping  things  are  common.  The  sideboards 
are  liberally  wide  because  the  West  Indian  planter  is  the  most 
hospitable  of  men.  The  floors  are  polished  like  glass  and  as 
slippery. 

Everywhere  are  there  reminiscences  of  home.  Here  on  the 
table  are  ancient  magazines  with  curled-up  leaves  and  torn 
covers.  They  have  been  read  and  re-read,  but  no  one  has  the 
heart  to  throw  them  away  or  hand  them  over  to  be  pawed  by 
aliens,  for  they  are  sacred    things.     On  a  wall,  stained   by  the 


THE   PLANTERS   AND   THE   POOR   WHITES.      39 

last  hurricane  of  rain,  is  an  insect-mottled  drawing  of  the  old 
house  in  England,  a  place  with  gables,  a  walled  garden  and  a 
yew  hedge.  Below  hangs  a  photograph  of  a  college  "  eight, ' 
with  the  planter  himself  among  them  as  he  was  in  the  days  of 
his  youth,  but  the  group  is  so  faded  that  the  lusty  under- 
graduates have  become  mere  spectral  smudges,  while  the  only 
thing  that  lives  is  the  college  shield,  in  still  defiant  colours. 
Of  the  portraits  of  the  father  and  mother  very  little  is  left  but 
the  dots  for  the  sitter's  eyes  put  in  in  paint  by  a  photographer 
who  was  given  to  realistic  "  touching  up." 

The  dim  room  is,  indeed,  a  room  of  ghosts.  The  cushions, 
the  curtains,  the  coverings  of  the  chairs  are  so  wan  and  colour- 
less, while  the  human  occupants  are  so  unsubstantial  in  the 
dull  light  that  if  the  full  flood  of  the  sun  were  to  pour  into  the 
room  one  can  believe  that  its  contents  would  vanish,  leaving  only 
the  black  butler  in  his  white  tunic  grinning  at  the  door. 

The  house  and  the  piazza  are  covered  with  creepers ;  the 
grounds  about  them  are  rich  with  flowers  of  every  tint.  The 
kitchen  garden  is  a  jungle  compared  with  the  prim,  brick-walled 
enclosure  in  England.  In  it  flourish  bananas  and  pumpkins, 
eddoes  and  peppers,  pigeon  peas,  yams,  ginger,  chalots  and  sweet 
potatoes.  There  will  be  in  a  corner  a  few  English  herbs,  despised 
by  the  natives,  and  possibly,  if  the  owner  be  luxuriant,  a  patch  of 
cabbages.  The  orchard  boasts  of  mangoes  and  guavas,  of  avocado 
pears  and  golden  apples,  of  shaddocks,  sour-sop,  and  bread-fruit, 
of  sapodillas,  oranges  and  limes. 

If  there  be  a  lady  in  the  planter's  house  there  is  sure  to  be  an 
English  garden  within  sight  of  the  windows  of  her  room,  where, 
tended  with  affectionate  care,  will  be  roses,  nasturtiums  and 
violets,  or  such  other  simple  flowers  as  can  survive  the  languor  of 
the  tropics.  For  this  corner  of  the  garden  the  negro  has  neither 
sympathy  nor  understanding,  since  he  fails  to  conceive  the  object 
of  growing  anything  that  cannot  be  eaten  or  made  into  building 
stuff.  I  remember  one  such  pleasance  beloved  above  all  by  the 
lady  of  the  place.  The  gardener  was  an  ancient  white  man  who, 
having  been  born  on  the  island,  had  no  opinion  of  the  nonsense 


40  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

talked  about  England,  nor  of  the  puny  plants  that  came  from  that 
dim  Mecca.  Although  he  had  lived  with  the  family  all  his  days 
he  persisted  in  classing  the  cherished  spot  and  all  that  grew  within 
it  as  "  bush."  He  declined  to  look  after  it.  The  violets  and  roses 
were  affected  weeds  unworthy  of  an  honest  man's  notice.  His 
faith  was  in  yams  and  in  fruits  as  big  as  his  head.  To  his  mistress 
the  meek  little  plot  was  a  garden  of  memories,  of  "  things  from 
home  "  ;  to  him  it  was  mere  scrub,  a  patch  of  wasted  ground.  It 
was  not  for  the  man  of  yams  to  know  that  the  parent  of  the  rose 
was  still  climbing  over  a  familiar  porch  in  Sussex,  or  that  the 
violets  had  grown  in  a  wood  visited  by  a  sorrowing  couple  the 
day  before  their  ship  set  sail  from  England. 

One  addition  to  the  planter's  house  remains  to  be  noticed,  and 
that  is  the  hurricane  wing.  In  the  older  buildings  it  takes  the 
form  of  a  strong  round  tower  of  two  floors  communicating  with 
the  dwelling-house.  It  has  the  massive  walls  and  beams  of  a  fort, 
the  narrow  windows  and  stout  doors  of  a  dungeon  and  the  roof  of 
a  gun  casemate. 

Here,  when  the  terror  comes,  crouch  the  women  and  children, 
while  the  wind  hisses  by  like  an  arrow  flight  of  invisible  steel, 
slashing  away  the  palms  and  trees  as  with  a  cutlass,  tearing  off 
the  house  roof  and  hurling  it,  with  furniture,  fencing,  huts  and 
plantation  litter  into  the  void.  The  women  press  their  hands 
over  their  ears  as  the  thunder  bursts  with  a  crash  "  as  if  the  whole 
vault  of  heaven  had  been  made  of  glass  and  had  been  shivered  at 
a  blow."  The  screaming  children,  who  have  dragged  their  toys 
with  them,  are  blinded  and  silenced  by  the  lightning  which  flashes 
through  the  window  slits,  and  are  then  fascinated  by  the  rain, 
which,  pouring  down  as  a  weir,  makes  of  the  road  a  river  and  of 
the  garden  a  whirlpool  of  mud. 

Possibly  the  most  interesting  and  remarkable  of  the  islanders 
are  certain  dismal  folk  known  as  the  "  poor  whites."  It  may  be 
surmised  that  the  "  poor  whites  "  are  colonists  who  have  fallen  upon 
evil  days  through  the  common  channels  of  disaster,  drunkenness 
and  sloth.  There  are  such,  no  doubt,  on  the  island,  but  they  are 
not  the  "  poor  whites  "  of  Barbados.     These  peculiar  people  are 


A     WEST     INDIAN     GRAVEYARD,    BARBADOS. 
The   Silk  Cotton  Tree. 


planter's     house,    showing    ion     the     right)    the     HIRRICANE     WING. 


THE   PLANTERS   AND   THE   POOR   WHITES.      41 

descendants  of  some  of  the  earlier  settlers,  of  men  who  were 
colonists  by  compulsion,  and  who  for  centuries  have  enjoyed 
nothing  but  a  heritage  of  woe. 

They  came  to  the  island  in  the  holds  of  unsavoury  ships,  a 
company  of  condemned  men  and  women  upon  whom  had  been 
passed  the  sentence  of  exile  for  life.  For  some  the  period  of 
banishment  had  been  short,  for  they  had  died  in  the  dark  under  the 
festering  planks  of  the  convict-brig,  and  were  handed  up  from  out 
of  the  stench  by  their  friends  to  be  dropped  into  the  wholesome 
sea.  Some  were  prisoners  who  were  taken  by  Cromwell  from  the 
wilds  of  Ireland  when  he  suppressed  the  rebellion  in  that  gallant 
country.  Others  were  the  victims  of  the  Civil  War,  who  had  been 
dragged  from  their  villages  by  plumed  and  belaced  cavaliers  to 
fight,  as  they  were  told,  for  the  King.  The  larger  number,  it 
would  seem,  were  yokels  who  had  taken  part  in  Monmouth's 
rebellion,  who  had  shouted  for  him  on  his  landing  at  Lyme 
Regis,  or  had  fought  for  him  at  Sedgemoor.  They  had  passed 
through  the  Bloody  Assize  alive,  had  faced  Judge  Jeffreys  from 
the  dock,  had  heard  his  curses  and  had  shuddered  under  the 
malignant  venom  of  his  eyes. 

In  the  West  Indian  island  the  banished  men  had  fared  ill. 
Unfitted  for  work  in  the  fields  under  a  tropical  sun,  they  had 
become  dependents,  loafers,  doers  of  odd  jobs  and  in  the  end  mere 
squatters  of  the  most  dejected  type.  Pitied  by  the  planter,  held 
in  contempt  by  the  negro,  without  aim  or  object  in  the  world,  they 
had  yet  kept  alive,  with  some  rustic  pride,  the  memory  that  they 
were  white  men.  They  married  only  among  themselves,  held 
aloof  from  the  blackamoor  and  went  their  own  way,  such  as 
it  was. 

Their  number  now  is  few,  but  they  are  a  most  distinctive 
people.  Long  intermarriage,  long  living  in  the  tropics,  long 
centuries  of  purposeless  existence  have  left  them  utterly  degenerate, 
anamic  in  mind  and  body,  sapless  and  nerveless,  mere  shadows  of 
once  sturdy  men.  The  Briton  in  the  West  Indies  clamours  that 
he  must  go  home  from  time  to  time  or  languish  in  health.  These 
have  never  been  home  since  the  day  when  they  were  thrown  out 


42  THE  CRADLE   OF  THE   DEEP. 

upon  the  scorching  beach  to  fare  as  they  liked.  They  have 
withered  and  faded  and,  Hke  a  painted  missal  which  has  been 
bleached  of  all  colour  by  years  of  sun,  the  writing  that  told  who 
they  were  has  become  well-nigh  illegible. 

The  poor  whites  are  to  be  found  mostly  about  Bathsheba,  a 
joyless  company  of  pariahs,  housed  in  wretched  huts  and  making 
a  flabby  pretence  at  living  as  fishermen.  They  own  to  names 
which  are  still  familiar  in  Ireland  and  in  the  west  of  England. 
Some  have  marked  Irish  faces,  and  the  doctor  in  whose  district 
they  live  tells  me  that  among  not  a  few  of  the  poor  whites  there 
still  survives  the  pleasant  brogue  of  Ireland. 

Those  who  are  descended  from  Monmouth's  men  are  the  off- 
spring of  ruddy-faced  peasants  who  tended  sheep  upon  the  Dorset 
downs,  or  turned  up  with  their  ploughs  the  good  brown  earth  of 
Devon.  One  can  imagine  how  for  years  their  talk  would  be  of  the 
hamlets  they  had  left,  of  the  cool  trout  streams,  the  shady  spinnies 
and  the  old  grey  church  whose  bells  they  could  hear  in  their 
dreams.  It  is  certain  that  when  each  December  came  round  they 
would  babble — in  spite  of  the  never-flagging  heat — of  Christmas 
time,  of  the  holly,  of  the  snow  on  the  uplands,  of  the  carol  singers 
and  the  squire's  baron  of  beef 

The  stories  would  come  down  to  the  sickly  grandchild,  to  the 
still  more  listless  great-grandson  until  at  last  the  telling  of  such 
things  as  the  keen  English  wind,  the  bare  trees,  the  sheep  fair  and 
carrier's  cart  would  become  unintelligible  and  meaningless,  while 
the  names  of  Lyme,  of  Taunton,  of  Bridgewater,  where  the  battle 
was  fought,  of  Dorchester,  where  the  assize  was  held,  would  be  as 
the  names  of  places  that  were  not. 

What  was  once  seen  grows  what  is  now  described, 
Then  talked  of,  told  about,  a  tinge  the  less 
In  every  fresh  transmission ;  till  it  melts, 
Trickles  in  silent  orange  or  wan  grey 
Across  the  memory,  dies  and  leaves  all  dark. 


VIII. 

THE   DAY   WHEN    THE   SUN   STOOD    STILL. 

The  most  terrible  day  in  the  annals  of  Barbados  was  a  certain 
Sunday  of  May  in  the  year  1812.  The  night  had  been  intensely 
dark,  no  star  had  been  visible,  while  those  who  were  unable  to 
sleep  heard  mysterious  sounds  as  of  distant  thunder  or  of  the 
firing  of  cannon.  The  many  who  were  restless  or  apprehensive 
that  night  were  consoled  by  the  thought  that  at  six  the  sun  would 
rise,  and  that  with  the  daylight  all  uneasiness  would  vanish. 

The  clocks  at  last  struck  six  but  there  was  not  a  sign  of  dawn. 
The  sky  was  still  as  black  as  a  pall.  The  darkness  was  impene- 
trable. The  white  man  crept  out  of  his  house  and  the  negro  out 
of  his  hut,  full  of  fear  and  anxiously  curious,  yet  hugging  the 
thought  that  the  clocks  must  be  wrong,  that  it  was  really  about 
midnight  and  that  they  would  go  back  to  bed  again  and  laugh 
over  the  escapade  in  the  morning. 

The  village  street,  however,  was  soon  full  of  people  feeling 
their  way  about  in  the  gloom,  moving  nervously  from  cabin  to 
cabin.  When  one  man  stumbled  against  another  he  would  clutch 
at  him  and  ask  in  a  whisper  what  all  this  meant.  Neighbours 
called  by  name  to  those  they  knew  should  be  near,  but  in  subdued 
voices.  The  white  man  groped  his  way  to  the  verandah  and 
down  the  steps  into  the  garden,  where,  with  arms  outstretched,  he 
felt  about  for  familiar  trees,  stooping  forward  like  a  blindfolded 
man.  The  children  were  early  awake  and  crying.  The  women 
lit  candles  in  their  cabins,  but  the  glimmer  made  the  murk  more 
awful.  The  goat  and  the  pig,  that  from  habit  had  been  let  loose 
at  six,  crept  into  the  welcome  light  and  hid  in  the  shadows  of  the 
small  room. 


44        THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP. 

Seven  o'clock  came  but  there  was  no  sign  of  the  sun.  A 
sickening  panic  fell  upon  the  distracted  folk  in  the  road.  They 
had  become  aware  that  two  other  hideous  things  were  added  to 
the  mysterious  darkness.  The  trade  wind — which  never  failed 
— had  ceased  to  blow.  There  was  a  blank  calm,  a  breathless 
stillness.  The  sound,  too,  of  the  surf  on  the  reef  had  ceased  as  if 
awed  into  silence.  More  than  that,  something  dreadful  was 
falling  out  of  the  air.  It  fell  without  sound,  a  fine  soft  dust,  that 
was  already  so  thick  upon  the  ground  as  to  make  the  road 
unfamiliar  to  the  bare  foot,  while  the  patter  of  men's  steps  sounded 
as  if  far  away.  It  fell  invisibly  upon  the  outstretched  hand,  upon 
the  woolly  head  ;  it  clung  to  the  brow ;  it  dried  the  clammy  lips  ; 
it  clogged  the  staring  eyes. 

A  man,  silly  with  dread,  began  to  joke  aloud  and  to  ask  why 
they  had  all  taken  to  getting  up  at  midnight?  Had  they  come 
to  see  the  old  year  out  ?  Before  the  poor  gibe  had  died  upon  the 
fool's  lips  the  meaning  of  the  unutterable  horror  was  realised. 
The  jester  had  supplied  the  clue.  To  see  the  old  year  out  ?  Was 
not  this  the  last  moment  of  all  the  years,  the  end  of  time,  the 
last  day  ? 

Men  no  longer  spoke  in  whispers.  The  silence  was  too 
unbearable.  A  woman's  scream  rent  the  air,  "  Oh  God  !  Have 
mercy  upon  us."  All  restraint  vanished.  All  now  knew  what  the 
signs  in  the  heavens  meant.  The  end  of  all  things  had  come. 
The  sun  would  never  rise  again.  This  was  the  lull  before  the 
awful  opening  of  the  Day  of  Judgment.  In  a  moment  the  sky 
would  crack  apart,  there  would  be  the  brazen  blast  of  the  last 
trump,  and  God  and  his  avenging  angels  would  appear  in  the 
dome  of  heaven. 

There  came  back  to  many  the  words  of  the  hymn, 

Lo  !  He  comes  with  clouds  descending, 
Robed  in  dreadful  majesty. 

Here  were  the  very  clouds  crushing  down  upon  them.  The  sky 
touched  the  earth.  They  could  feel  the  weight  of  it.  Had  not 
the  Bible  said,  too,  "  He  shall  come  as  a  thief  in  the  night "  ? 


THE   DAY    WHEN   THE   SUN    STOOD    STILL.      45 

Men  and  women  rushed  to  and  fro  without  purpose  or  control. 
The  highway  was  filled  with  shrieking,  crazy  folk.  They  wrung 
their  hands.  They  clung  to  one  another  aimlessly.  They  threw 
themselves  down  upon  their  knees  and  prayed.  In  the  quaint 
language  of  the  negro,  in  bursts  and  sobs,  in  yells  and  screams  of 
terror,  supplications  were  hurled  against  the  sullen  heaven.  The 
black  man  is  superstitious,  he  is  emotional  and  excitable.  His 
religion  is  very  rugged,  and  daubed  on  his  mind  in  crude  colours. 
He  called  out  to  God  as  he  would  to  the  overseer  standing  above 
him  with  a  whip.  He  was  a  sinner.  He  was  to  be  scourged 
and  damned.  The  flames  of  Hell  were  in  sight.  The  appalling 
pictures  of  the  Judgment  Seat  shown  at  the  Sunday-school 
came  to  his  mind.  The  devil  with  his  horns  and  his  pronged 
fork  was  waiting  for  him.  He  yelled,  he  clamoured,  he  whined 
for  mercy. 

Women  broke  out  into  fragments  of  hymns,  and  sung  as  sick 
folk  sing  in  their  delirium.  Men  dropped  face  downwards  in  the 
dust  of  the  road  gasping,  "  I  am  a  sinner  !  I  am  a  sinner  !  Have 
pity  !  Have  pity  !  "  Others,  standing  erect,  held  up  their  hands 
to  the  black  cloud,  and,  as  the  tears  made  streaks  of  mud  down 
their  faces,  called  to  God  to  spare  them.  How  they  abased  them- 
selves and  grovelled  !  How  they  promised  never  to  do  wrong 
again  !     How  they  simpered  and  wept  and  howled  ! 

The  coward  husband  clung  to  the  wife,  believing  that  she 
would  be  saved,  and  that  if  he  held  on  to  her  he  might  escape 
Hell  when  the  sheep  came  to  be  parted  from  the  goats. 

One  silent  man  was  creeping  towards  the  beach.  He  had 
stolen  a  knife  some  weeks  ago.  He  held  it  in  his  hand.  It  must 
be  thrown  into  the  sea.  It  must  not  be  found  upon  him  when  the 
Great  Judge  came. 

An  old  woman  was  feeling  her  way  to  the  graveyard.  She 
reached  the  dust-clogged  gate,  opened  it  and  went  in.  She  sat 
down  to  wait.  She  knew  that  in  a  while  the  graves  would  open 
and  that  the  earth  would  give  up  its  dead.  She  was  speechless 
with   expectation,  for   all    she  held  dear   lay  within  these   silent 


46  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

walls.  She  would  see  her  husband  again,  face  to  face,  and  her 
sons  and  her  little  girl.  She  thought  over  the  many  things  she 
had  to  say  to  them  all. 

With  the  greater  number  the  impulse  was  to  hide,  to  run 
away,  to  be  lost.  They  called  upon  the  hills  to  cover  them. 
They  rushed  into  the  thickets  of  cane,  and  casting  themselves 
headlong  among  the  great  stalks  put  their  fingers  into  their  ears 
to  keep  out  the  sound  of  the  trumpet  call,  all  the  while  muttering 
prayers  with  their  lips  to  the  earth. 

The  velvety  powder  continued  to  fall.  Many  began  to  feel 
that  they  were  being  suffocated.  There  was  no  air.  The  dust 
stifled  them.  They  tore  the  raiment  from  their  throats  and  rushed 
about  gasping,  fighting  with  their  hands  the  deepening  cloud  as 
drowning  men  battle  with  the  waves. 

Now  and  then  there  was  a  crash  that  made  every  heart  stop 
and  for  a  moment  silenced  every  scream.  It  was  a  branch  of  a 
tree  falling  that  had  been  bent  to  breaking  by  the  weight  of  dust 
upon  it. 

Worse  than  that,  dreadful  birds  flew  by  in  the  dark,  and 
almost  touched  the  shrinking  crowd  with  their  wings.  Were 
these  awful  shapes  portends  and  heralds  of  the  Coming  ?  They 
were  great  sea-birds  whose  wings  and  backs  were  so  laden  with 
dust  that  they  could  scarcely  flutter.  They  had  come  in  from 
over  the  sea,  moving  ever  more  and  more  languidly  until  their 
pinions  were  as  pinions  of  lead. 

The  hours  as  they  passed  were  struck  upon  the  clock,  but  the 
tones  were  becoming  huskier  for  the  bells  were  covered  deep  with 
dust. 

There  was  still  the  same  impenetrable  night,  the  same  dead 
atmosphere,  the  pitiless  silence,  the  falling  film,  the  slowly-moving 
wearied  birds. 

At  last,  about  the  hour  of  one,  those  who  looked  towards  the 
south  saw  a  faint  glow  in  the  sky.  It  widened  into  a  blood-red 
gap  of  light  that  stained  the  sea  with  blood  and  lit  the  clouds  as 
smoke  is  illumined  by  flame.  The  horror,  intensified  by  the 
rack  of  suspense,  became  inexpressible.     The  sky  was  opening  f 


THE   DAY   WHEN   THE   SUN   STOOD    STILL.      47 

The  dread  Appearance  was  at  hand  !  In  a  moment  the  blast  of 
the  trumpet  would  shake  the  heavens  and  herald  the  Last 
Judgment,  Those  who  saw  the  awful  sight  fled  or  hid  their  faces 
in  the  dust.  Whether  they  ran  or  whether  they  fell  where  they 
stood,  they  pressed  their  hands  over  their  ears  in  expectation  of  the 
coming  sound. 

But  the  silence  remained  unbroken.  The  crimson  glare  melted 
into  kindly  light.  The  darkness  gathered  itself  up  into  a  black 
cloud  that  hung  suspended,  like  a  clot,  over  the  fields  it  almost 
touched.  In  a  while  it  faded  into  a  disc  of  grey  and  then  vanished, 
leaving  the  island  once  more  flooded  by  the  sunlight  of  a  summer 
afternoon.  The  trade  wind  blew  again  from  out  of  the  east,  while 
upon  the  ear  there  fell  once  more  the  sound  of 

The  league-long  roller  thundering  on  the  reef. 

The  island  was  changed.  The  whole  country  was  covered, 
to  the  depth  of  one  and  a  half  inches,  by  a  soft  grey  powder,  some 
of  which  can  be  seen  to  this  day  in  the  museum  of  Codrington 
College.  A  like  dust  lay  thick  upon  leaf  and  bough,  upon  palm 
branch  and  cabin  roof,  upon  the  terrace  of  the  great  house  and 
the  deck  of  the  brig  in  the  haven.  The  sun  had  set  over  an 
island  of  green,  it  had  risen  on  a  land  of  ashes. 

The  people  looked  at  one  another  shyly  at  first.  Some 
laughed,  since  all  their  heads  were  grey  and  their  faces  powdered. 
Those  who  had  hidden  among  the  canes  crept  out  and  swaggered 
along  the  road  to  the  village  as  if  they  were  returning  from 
a  morning  stroll.  Some  ventured  to  say  how  amused  they  had 
been,  forgetting  that  the  marks  of  tears  were  fresh  upon  their 
cheeks.  Others  were  thankful  that  they  had  not  made  fools  of 
themselves,  until  they  caught  sight  of  the  patches  of  mud  upon 
their  knees  and  the  weeds  of  the  ditch  in  their  hair. 

The  man  who  had  thrown  the  knife  into  the  sea  repented  of 
the  act  and  resolved  to  dive  for  it  at  his  leisure.  The  old  woman 
hobbled  back  stiffly  from  the  graveyard  with  the  sense  of  a 
grievance  in  her  mind  and  some  mutterings  of  disappointment 
on  her  lips.     The  sea-birds — after  eluding  the  cudgels  of  shouting 


48        THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP. 

boys  who  were  still  hoarse  with  prayer — sailed  away  across  the 
water  with  cries  of  thankfulness. 

In  the  course  of  time  a  schooner  cast  anchor  in  Carlisle  Bay 
bringing  the  news  that  on  the  day  the  sun  stood  still  over 
Barbados  there  had  been  an  unparalleled  eruption  of  Mount 
Soufriere  on  the  island  of  St.  Vincent.  Now,  Barbados  is  ninety- 
five  miles  to  the  windward  of  St.  Vincent,  yet  thousands  of  tons 
of  dust  had  been  carried  noiselessly  all  that  distance  and  had 
been  dropped  upon  the  palpitating  colony. 

The  dust  produced  two  effects — a  temporary  religious  revival, 
and  a  permanent  improvement  in  the  soil  of  the  fields,  because 
it  is  said  to  have  had  good  fertilising  qualities. 


IX. 

A  MYSTERIOUS   SHIP. 

JfOR  many  and  many  a  year  in  Barbados  the  cry  of  "A  sail  in 
sight  '  would  send  a  thrill  through  the  settlement.  It  was  a  cry 
which  emptied  the  little  school-house  of  its  boys,  impelled  the 
shopkeeper  to  clap  on  his  wig  and  hasten  to  the  beach,  and  led 
the  planter  among  the  canes  to  stop  and  turn  his  pony's  head 
homewards.  If  it  was  on  a  Sunday  when  the  cry  came  it  drew 
tolk  out  of  church,  one  by  one,  and  hurried  the  droning  sermon  to 
a  close. 

Every  ship,  whether  great  or  small,  brought  news,  but  it  was 
often  the  smallest  which  carried  the  most  weighty  tidings — tidings 
of  a  French  fleet  bearing  westward,  of  a  sea  fight  off  St.  Lucia, 
of  a  derelict  with  dead  men  awash  on  her  deck  and  the  name 
Mary  of  Barbados  under  her  stern.  Every  item  of  public  news 
that  ever  reached  Bridgetown  had  been  bawled  over  the  gunwale 
of  some  sea-weary  craft  to  upturned  faces  in  boats,  while  the 
anchor  splashed  into  the  bay  and  the  cable  rattled  through  the 
hawse-pipe.  In  this  wise  came  the  tidings,  "  The  Queen  is  dead  "  ; 
"  All  has  been  lost  at  Worcester  " ;  "  Nelson  has  blown  them  to 
blazes  at  Trafalgar." 

So  long  as  the  sails  of  the  formless  ship  were  as  a  light  in  the 
haze  she  brought  with  her  the  very  message  that  everyone  hoped 
for  and  waited  for.  She  brought  money  to  the  castaway,  forgive- 
ness to  the  prodigal,  promotion  to  the  war-tanned  captain,  and 
a  summons  home  to  the  fretting  subaltern  whose  heart  had  been 
left  behind  in  a  green  rectory  in  Devon. 

From  the  Governor  to  the  lounger  on  the  quay  there  was 
a  period  of  anxious  suspense  until  the  watchman  made  out  the 

E 


50  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

rig  and  cut  of  the  on-coming  craft.  To  the  Governor  it  might 
mean  advancement  or  recall,  to  the  lounger  the  landing  of  a 
King's  officer  in  search  of  a  pirate  who  had  turned  wharfinger  for 
a  time. 

On  January  28,  1682,  a  ship  was  observed  to  be  approaching 
Barbados  from  the  south.  She  was  apparently  heading  for 
Bridgetown,  and  was  romping  along  with  the  trade  wind  on  her 
starboard  quarter.  Curiously  enough  she  did  not  seem  to  be  in 
any  hurry,  for  her  lee  sheets  were  handsomely  eased  off.  Anyone 
who  stood  on  the  little  cliff  at  St.  Lawrence  would  have  had 
a  good  view  of  her  as  she  drew  near  to  the  reef  Her  flag,  in  spite 
of  rents  and  dirt,  showed  the  crosses  of  St.  George  and  St.  Andrew. 
It  was  to  be  inferred,  therefore,  that  she  was  British.  She  flew 
also  another  flag,  a  blood-red  burgee  decked  with  a  bunch  of 
white  and  green  ribbons,  which  was  a  mystery  to  all  beholders. 

The  ship  was  so  wan,  so  weather-stained,  so  old  as  to  be  almost 
spectral.  She  may  have  been  a  ghost  ship  come  to  look  into 
Carlisle  Bay  for  the  fleet  of  Columbus.  The  paint  on  her  sides 
was  ash-coloured.  The  tar  had  cracked  away  in  blisters  leaving 
bare  the  planks  which  were  as  yellow  as  a  faded  leaf.  Her  bottom, 
as  she  heeled  over  to  the  breeze,  was  green  with  weed  and  crackling 
with  barnacles.  Her  sails,  patched  and  ragged,  hung  about  her 
masts  like  cerecloths,  while  many  of  her  spars  were  splintered  and 
"  fished."  She  looked  as  if  she  had  passed  through  a  century  of 
sun,  wind  and  rain.     She  creaked  like  an  old  basket. 

She  was  a  galleon  of  some  400  tons,  with  the  lines  of  a  Spanish 
iiian-or-war,  but  the  great  house  on  the  poop  and  all  the  carved 
work  about  the  stern  had  been  uncouthly  hacked  away,  giving  her 
the  aspect  of  a  ruin.  She  showed  no  guns  along  her  sides,  but 
there  were  ports  for  cannon  on  two  decks,  which  ports  had  been 
closed  and  daubed  over  as  if  to  conceal  their  existence.  Across 
her  stern,  in  letters  of  faded  gilt,  was  her  name.  It  was  in  Spanish 
and  was  a  curious  name — The  Most  Blessed  Trinity. 

If  any  could  have  seen  her  closer  they  would  have  noticed  that 
the  timbers  about  her  rudder-post  were  charred.  Someone  had 
evidently  tried  to  set  her  on  fire.     Her  sides  and  bulwarks  showed 


A   MYSTERIOUS   SHIP.  51 

many  shot  holes.  She  was  leaking  pretty  freely,  for  a  couple  of 
men  were  cursing  at  the  pump.  The  water  that  came  out  of  her 
stank  of  rum,  stale  hides  and  sour  wine.  There  were  cutlass  hacks 
along  her  gunwale,  especially  by  the  rigging,  as  if  men  had  boarded 
her.  The  cabin  door  had  evidently  been  burst  in  by  a  bloody 
shoulder  for  there  was  still  a  mark  on  the  cracked  panel.  There 
was  a  trickle  of  dry  and  faded  blood  down  the  stair,  and  in  the 
corner  of  the  cabin,  on  the  skirting-board,  was  a  horrible  glue-like 
daub  with  black  hair  sticking  to  it  where  a  man,  whose  brains  had 
been  blown  out,  had  fallen  and  died. 

The  craft  held  on  her  course  until  she  "  opened  "  Carlisle  Bay. 
People  on  shore  were  hurrying  down  to  the  careenage  to  get  the 
first  look  at  this  ancient,  mysterious  and  weather-worn  ship,  which 
might  have  hailed  from  Cathay.  The  moment,  however,  that  the 
ghostly  vessel  reached  the  mouth  of  the  inlet  she  suddenly  shifted 
her  helm,  and,  with  the  tiller  hard-a-weather,  swung  to  leeward 
and  sailed  away  towards  the  north.  In  a  few  hours  she  had 
vanished. 

It  would  seem  as  if  the  captain  of  the  gruesome  ship  had  seen 
something  in  Carlisle  Bay  that  had  frightened  him.  But  the 
haven  was  asleep  in  the  sun.  A  few  traders  were  lying  along  the 
quay  near  Bridgetown,  while  at  anchor  in  the  pool  was  a  large 
frigate,  H.M.S.  Richmond. 

The  captain  of  The  Most  Blessed  Trinity  was  no  other  than 
Bartholomew  Sharp,'  an  acrid-looking  villain  whose  scarred  face 
had  been  tanned  to  the  colour  of  old  brandy,  whose  shaggy  brows 
were  black  with  gunpowder  and  whose  long  hair,  half  singed  off 
in  a  recent  fight,  was  tied  up  in  a  nun's  wimple.  He  was  dressed  in 
the  long,  embroidered  coat  of  a  Spanish  grandee,  and  as  there  was  a 
bullet  hole  in  the  back  of  the  garment  it  may  be  surmised  that  the 
previous  owner  had  come  to  a  violent  end.  His  hose  of  white  silk 
were  as  dirty  as  the  deck  ;  his  shoe  buckles  were  of  dull  silver. 
This  was  the  companion  of  Dampier,  Ringrose  and  Wafer,  the 
hero  of  the  "  Dangerous  Voyage  and   Bold  Attempts  of  Captain 

'  Dampier's     Voyages ;     The     Buccaneers     of    America,     by    John    Esquemeliny, 
London,  1893  ;  On  the  Spanish  Main,  by  John  Maseficld,  London,  1906. 


52  THE  CRADLE   OF  THE   DEEP. 

Bartholomew  Sharp."  His  admirers  wrote  of  him  as  "that  sea 
artist  and  valliant  commander,"  but  the  captain  of  H.M.'s  frigate 
Richmond  knew  him  as  a  desperate  and  unconscionable  pirate 
with  a  price  on  his  head. 

Sharp,  with  330  buccaneers,  had  left  the  West  Indies  in  April 
1680.  They  landed  on  the  mainland,  and  crossing  the  Isthmus, 
made  for  Panama.  Having  secured  canoes,  they  attacked  the 
Spanish  fleet  lying  at  Perico,  an  island  off  Panama  city,  and 
after  one  of  the  most  desperate  fights  ever  recorded  in  the  annals 
of  the  sea  they  took  all  the  ships,  including  The  Most  Blessed 
Trinity.  Then  followed  a  long  record  of  successful  pirating,  of 
battle,  murder  and  sudden  death,  of  mutinies  and  quarrels. 

In  the  end  some  of  the  desperadoes  returned  "  home  "  across 
the  Isthmus ;  but  Sharp,  in  the  Trinity,  determined  to  keep  to 
the  ship,  to  sail  the  whole  length  of  South  America,  to  weather 
the  Horn  and  to  reach  the  West  Indies  by  way  of  the  sea.  This 
was  the  "  dangerous  voyage  "  which  had  occupied  eighteen  months 
of  unparalleled  adventure,  peril  and  hardship. 

Barbados  was  the  first  point  of  "  home  "  they  had  reached,  so 
that  any  who  saw  the  gaunt  ship  on  that  day  in  January  saw  the 
end  of  a  cruise  the  like  of  which  had  never  been.  But  for  the 
glimpse  of  H.M.S.  Richmond  in  Carlisle  Bay,  Sharp  and  his 
comrades  would  have  been  filling  the  taverns  of  Bridgetown 
with  boisterous  oaths,  strange  tales,  and  the  fumes  of  rum.  A 
warrant  was  out  against  Bartholomew,  so  he  had  to  be  circum- 
spect 

The  log  of  the  "  dangerous  voyage  "  affords  reading  as  lurid  as 
the  "  Newgate  Calendar."  It  records  how  they  landed  and  took 
towns,  how  they  filled  the  little  market  square  with  corpses,  how 
they  pillaged  the  church,  ransacked  every  house,  and  then  com- 
mitted the  trembling  place  to  the  flames.  It  tells  how  they 
tortured  frenzied  men  until,  in  their  agony,  they  told  of  hiding 
places  where  gold  was  buried ;  how  they  spent  an  unholy  Christ- 
mas at  Juan  Fernandez ;  how,  in  a  little  island  cove,  they  fished 
with  a  greasy  lead  for  golden  pieces  which  Drake  is  believed  to 
have   thrown    overboard    for   want   of   carrying   room.     It   gives 


I 


A   MYSTERIOUS   SHIP.  53 

account  of  a  cargo  of  sugar  and  wine,  of  tallow  and  hides,  of  bars 
of  silver  and  pieces  of  eight,  of  altar  chalices  and  ladies'  trinkets, 
of  scented  laces,  and  of  rings  torn  from  the  clenched  and  still 
warm  fingers  of  the  dead. 

The  "valliant  commander"  had  lost  many  of  his  company  on 
the  dangerous  voyage.  Some  had  died  in  battle ;  others  had 
mumbled  out  their  lives  in  the  delirium  of  fever,  sunstroke  or 
drink ;  certain  poor  souls,  with  racked  joints  and  bleeding  backs, 
were  crouching  in  Spanish  prisons  ;  while  one  had  been  left  behind 
on  a  desert  island  in  the  Southern  Pacific. 

When  The  Most  Blessed  Trinity  started  on  her  journey  south 
she  had  on  board  two  English  surgeons.  These  gentlemen  were, 
no  doubt,  kept  well  employed.  They  went  ashore  with  the  boats 
at  Arica  when  the  pirates  made  the  attempt  to  seize  and  sack 
that  town.  As  civilians  they  would  take  no  part  in  the  actual 
gun  and  cutlass  business.  The  fighting  on  this  occasion  being 
much  protracted  the  two  surgeons  took  advantage  of  their  enforced 
leisure  to  become  intoxicated.  When  the  pirates  were  compelled 
to  retreat — for  they  were  utterly  routed — the  two  representatives 
of  the  healing  art  were  bawling  out  the  latest  London  songs  on 
the  floor  of  a  deserted  tavern.  They  were  rudely  sobered  when 
they  found  their  hands  tied  behind  their  backs  and  a  Spanish  fist 
screwing  at  their  collars.  Of  all  the  prisoners  taken  these  two 
learned  men  alone  escaped  being  murdered ;  for  it  was  believed 
that  they  might,  when  sober,  be  a  comfort  to  the  sick  of  Arica. 

Captain  Sharp,  although  the  leader  of  so  many  "  bold  attempts," 
had  not  himself  been  free  from  certain  domestic  troubles  durine 
the  voyage.  They  were  mostly  due  to  religion,  or  rather  to  the 
fervour  of  a  religious  revival  among  the  ship's  company.  The  crew 
became  at  one  time  so  repelled  by  Sharp's  lax  morals,  indifferent 
piety  and  utter  disregard  for  the  Sabbath  that  they  could  stand 
it  no  longer  ;  so  they  seized  him,  put  him  in  irons  and  dropped 
him  down  on  to  the  ballast. 

In  his  stead  they  elected  one  John  Watling,  an  old  and  blood- 
thirsty buccaneer.  He  at  once  began  Sunday  services  on  board 
the  Trinity^  to  the  great  comfort  of  the  men.    Bartholomew  Sharp, 


54  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

as  he  sat  in  the  dark,  on  the  damp  stones  with  which  the  bilge  was 
ballasted,  could  hear  the  music  of  familiar  hymns  rendered  by 
hearty  throats,  a  little  husky,  perhaps,  from  too  much  liquor. 
He  could  hear,  too,  and  this  would  pain  him  most  in  his 
solitude,  the  fog-horn  voice  of  the  pious  Watling  "  leading  in 
prayer,"  or  expounding  select  passages  from  the  Holy  Scriptures. 
Unfortunately,  John  Watling  the  revivalist  was  killed  a  few  days 
later  by  a  bullet  through  his  liver,  so  his  career  as  a  Scripture 
reader  was  short. 

During  Watling's  captaincy.  Sharp,  as  soon  as  he  had  been 
lifted  up  from  the  ballast,  did  his  best  to  appear  before  the 
company  as  a  just  man  made  perfect.  Among  some  prisoners 
taken  about  this  time  was  an  aged  Indian.  He  was  questioned 
as  to  Arica,  the  town  Watling  was  proposing  to  attack.  His 
answers  were  judged  to  be  false,  whereupon  the  godly  Watling, 
without  further  parleying,  ordered  him  to  be  shot  to  death,  "  which 
was  accordingly  done." 

This  sentence  was  too  much  for  ex-captain  Sharp,  who  seems 
to  have  found  grace  while  sitting  on  the  stones  in  the  bilge.  He 
protested  against  the  cold-blooded  murder  of  the  poor,  untutored 
savage.  Was  he  not  a  man  and  a  brother  ?  The  voice  of  the 
tender-hearted  Bartholomew  faltered  as  he  talked  of  the  old  man's 
little  home,  of  his  aged  wife,  of  his  devoted  sons.  The  pleadings 
of  this  high-principled  gentleman  fell  unfortunately  upon  deaf  ears. 
Finding  his  counsel  of  no  avail,  Sharp  drew  himself  up  to  his  full 
height  on  the  sunlit  deck,  and  in  a  voice  trembling  with  dignity 
and  emotion,  called  for  a  basin  of  water.  It  was  an  unusual 
request,  and  as  basins  are  apt  to  get  broken  on  pirate  ships  the 
water  was  probably  brought  him  in  a  battered  salver  stolen  from 
a  Spanish  altar.  Sharp  at  once  proceeded  to  perform  a  rarely 
witnessed  act.  As  a  blear-eyed  ruffian  of  a  steward  held  the  basin 
before  him,  he  deliberately  washed  his  hands  in  the  not  over  clean 
water.  Then,  as  he  wiped  his  fingers  on  the  lappels  of  his  coat, 
he  said  solemnly,  and  with  his  eyes  turned  heavenwards, 
"  Gentlemen,  I  am  clear  of  the  blood  of  this  old  man."  It  was 
a  great   and    impressive  ceremony — Bartholomew  Sharp   in   the 


A   MYSTERIOUS   SHIP.  55 

character  of  Pontius  Pilate — but  it  did  not  save  the  hfe  of  the 
wretched  Indian. 

It  only  remains  to  be  said  that  The  Most  Blessed  Trinity^ 
after  the  alarm  at  Barbados,  sailed  wearily  away  to  Antigua.  Here 
some  fourteen  of  the  pirates  landed,  including  Esquemeling,  the 
historian  of  the  "  dangerous  voyage."  They  secured  a  passage  to 
England  in  the  Lisbon  Metxhant^  and  reached  the  peaceful  town 
of  Dartmouth  in  March  1682, 

Sharp,  however,  did  not  feel  quite  easy  at  Antigua.  He  was 
getting  a  little  anxious  about  himself,  and  if  he  read  Shakespeare 
must  have  often  repeated  the  reflections  of  the  boy  in  "  Henry  V." 
who  said  to  Pistol, 

"  Would  I  were  in  an  alehouse  in  London  ;  I  would  give  all 
my  fame  for  a  pot  of  ale  and  safety." 

Sharp,  therefore,  moved  on  to  the  remoter  colony  of  Nevis. 
In  the  little  shy  harbour  of  that  island  the  poor,  battered, 
friendless  ship  came  to  an  anchor  at  last.  Bartholomew  was  sick 
of  the  sight  of  her,  so  he  handed  her  over  to  the  piteous  remnant 
of  his  crew,  who  had  gambled  all  their  loot  and  savings  away  and 
had  not  a  penny  to  offer  for  their  passage  home. 

As  the  "  sea  artist,"  in  his  gayest  clothes,  sailed  out  of  Nevis 
on  a  homeward-bound  merchantman  he  would  have  passed  the 
Trinity  lying  at  her  anchor,  dead-beat.  He  would  have  noticed 
her  shot-riddled  hull,  her  ragged  sails,  her  rotting  and  too  familiar 
decks.  The  warm  breeze  would  have  brought  him  a  whiff  from 
her  open  hold — a  whiff  of  stale  rum  and  staler  bilge  water.  The 
odour  would  have  reminded  him  of  the  days  when  he  lay  in  irons 
below  decks,  listening  to  hymns.  It  may  be  that  he  waved  his 
lace-ruffled  hand  to  the  poor,  shirtless,  unshaven  gamblers  who 
hung  over  her  gunwale  and  who  watched,  through  the  tears  in 
their  eyes,  the  last  of  their  comrades  starting  on  their  way  to 
England  and  home. 


56  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 


X. 

TRINIDAD. 

After  a  fortnight  at  Barbados  the  visitor  would  do  well  to  follow 
the  mail  route  again  to  the  next  port  of  call,  Trinidad.  The 
journey,  which  occupies  some  ten  hours,  is  generally  made  at  night, 
so  that  by  the  time  the  sun  is  well  up  the  steamer  is  in  the  Gulf 
of  Paria. 

Trinidad  is  the  most  southerly  of  the  West  Indies,  the  island 
nearest  of  all  to  the  Equator.  It  lies  close  to  the  mainland,  being 
indeed  but  a  detached  fragment  of  Venezuela.  The  Gulf  of  Paria 
is  the  little  sea  shut  in  between  the  continent  of  South  America 
and  the  wayward  island,  which  same  dissevered  land  seems  to  be 
stretching  out  its  arms  towards  the  mother  country.  Within 
those  arms  is  the  famous  gulf. 

Trinidad  is  not  only  a  very  beautiful  island,  but  it  is  typical  of 
the  tropics  and  of  the  West  Indies  generally.  It  is  a  place, 
therefore,  for  a  prolonged  sojourn,  especially  as  its  roads  are 
excellent,  and  the  means  of  communication  both  by  train  and  coast 
steamer  are  ample  and  convenient.  There  is  just  one  drawback 
to  the  island,  which  even  the  generous  hospitality  and  ready 
kindness  of  the  inhabitants  cannot  make  quite  imperceptible,  and 
that  is  the  climate.  It  is  hot,  damp,  and  enervating,  while  the 
insects  of  the  colony  are  rather  overwhelming  in  their  attentions 
to  newcomers. 

Seen  across  the  gulf,  Trinidad  is  an  island  of  a  thousand  hills, 
of  incessant  peaks  and  ridges,  and  of  a  maze  of  winding  valleys. 
From  the  sea  margin  to  the  sky  line  it  is  one  blaze  of  green,  the 
green  not  of  grass  but  of  trees.  Trees  cover  it  from  the  deepest 
gorge  to  the  broken-glass  edge   of  the  highest   peak.     It  is  the 


TRINIDAD.  57 

island  of  Lincoln  green.  Viewed  from  a  long  way  off  it  would 
seem  to  be  covered  uniformly  with  green  astrachan.  Seen  nearer 
one  wonders  if  there  can  be  a  level  road  in  the  place,  or  indeed 
any  road  at  all,  and  if  the  inhabitants  can  ever  find  their  way  out 
of  the  woods,  so  as  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  sky. 

Here,  at  last,  is  the  green  of  a  West  Indian  island,  a  hoard, 
a  pyramid,  a  piled-up  cairn  of  green,  rising  aloft  from  an  iris-blue 
sea.  Here  is  a  very  revel  of  green,  clamorous  and  unrestrained, 
a  "  bravery  "  of  green  as  the  ancients  would  call  it,  a  green  that 
deepens  into  blue  and  purple,  or  that  brightens  into  tints  of  old 
gold  and  primrose  yellow.  Here  are  the  dull  green  of  wet  moss, 
the  clear  green  of  the  parrot's  wing,  the  green  tints  of  old  copper, 
of  malachite,  of  the  wild  apple,  the  bronze-green  of  the  beetle's 
back,  the  dead  green  of  the  autumn  Nile. 

From  the  Gulf  of  Paria  can  be  seen  the  coast  of  the  Spanish 
Main,  and  those  pale  mountains  beyond  whose  heights  lay  El 
Dorado  and  the  city  of  gold.  The  water  of  the  gulf  is  dull.  It  is 
sullied  by  the  great  Orinoco  river,  for  the  mud  that  clouds  it  is 
washed  from  off  the  slopes  of  the  Andes. 

On  a  wide  open  flat,  at  the  foot  of  the  thousand  hills,  where 
the  land  has  come  out  to  breathe,  is  a  cluster  of  buildings.  This  is 
Port  of  Spain,  the  capital  of  Trinidad.  The  town  is  not  noteworthy. 
It  has  been  many  times  burnt  down,  in  which  various  fires  the 
old  Spanish  houses  and  the  rambling  lanes  have  vanished,  while 
out  of  the  ashes  has  arisen  a  more  and  more  precise  city,  laid  out 
in  mathematical  lines,  like  a  chess-board,  with  every  street  straight. 
No  two  houses  are,  however,  alike.  Some  are  of  brick,  a  few  of 
stone,  some  are  of  concrete  and  iron,  while  a  multitude  are  mere 
shanties  of  wood. 

The  main  thoroughfares  are  made  up  largely  of  wooden  shops 
of  two  stories,  scorched  and  warped  out  of  shape  by  the  sun,  tinted 
with  more  or  less  decolorised  paint  and  richly  endowed  with 
corrugated  iron.  The  space  of  the  street  is  encroached  upon  by 
arcades,  by  latticed  balconies,  by  sloping  sun-shutters,  shop  signs, 
palms  and  telegraph  poles.  Many  of  the  buildings  in  the  business 
quarter  look  as  if  they  were  only  temporary  structures  and  had  no 


58        THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP. 

claim  to  belong  to  an  abiding  city.  The  streets  are  glaring  and 
steamy  as  well  as  a-rattle  with  electric  trams,  the  overheard  wires 
of  which  hiss,  as  if  red  hot,  when  the  cars  rumble  by.  There  are 
trench-like  gullies  on  either  side  of  the  road  ready  to  be  turned 
into  torrents  by  the  tropical  rains. 

No  dogs  in  the  world  are  so  indefinite  in  the  matter  of  breed 
as  are  the  street  dogs  of  Trinidad,  They  have  lost  all  the 
characteristics  of  species,  belong  to  no  determined  class  and  are 
simply  "  dogs." 

Among  the  many  curious  objects  in  the  streets  of  the  place  are 
certain  loathsome  birds  called  "  Johnny  Crows."  They  are  greasy 
looking  vultures  with  bare  indiarubber  necks,  the  cringing  walk 
of  Uriah  Heep,  Jewish  beaks  and  a  general  air  of  nastiness.  They 
dabble  about  the  gutters  in  search  of  offal.  When  they  are  gorged 
they  flap  away  to  a  housetop  where  they  brood  filthily.  If  a 
septic  germ  could  be  metamorphosed  into  a  thing  with  wings  it 
would  take  the  form  of  a  "Johnny  Crow."  Although  these  mean 
fowls  are  so  disgusting  to  look  at  when  they  are  limping  about  a 
midden-heap  they  are  almost  angel-like  when  they  are  seen  high 
up  in  the  blue  heavens,  wheeling  in  great  circles  round  and  round 
the  city,  as  if  with  watchful  tenderness. 

The  town  folk  of  Trinidad  appear  to  live  mainly  in  the  streets 
and  to  spend  their  days  leaning  out  of  windows  or  over  balconies, 
for  the  climate  is  unfavourable  to  movement.  So  many  nationalities 
are  represented  in  the  highways  and  byways  of  Port  of  Spain  that 
it  might  have  been  on  this  island  that  the  Tower  of  Babel  was 
erected.  There  are  negroes,  mulattoes  and  "  coloured "  people 
of  every  known  shade,  French,  Spaniards  and  English  folk,  East 
Indians  in  great  multitude,  Tamils,  Americans,  Venezuelans, 
Germans,  a  Chinaman  or  two,  and  a  few  anomalous  beings  who 
are  of  as  uncertain  species  as  the  dogs  and  who  would  be  classified 
simply  as  "men." 

Although  Trinidad  has  been  British  since  the  year  1797  it  has 
by  no  means  lost  the  evidences  of  its  earlier  occupation.  Some  of  the 
chief  families  and  landowners  on  the  island  are  Spanish  or  French. 
To  the  same  nationalities  belong  many  of  the  most  prominent 


TRINIDAD.  59 

citizens.  Spanish  names  abound  over  shop-doors  and  over  many 
a  gaudy  tavern,  while  on  the  map  of  Trinidad  it  is  the  Spanish 
name  that  everywhere  predominates.  After  the  Spaniards  the 
French  made  a  struggle  for  a  place  on  the  map.  They  came  with 
their  Bale  Blanchisseuse,  Pointe  Sans  Souci  and  Hot  Saut  d'Eau. 
Finally  some  worthy  Irishman  managed  to  make  his  mark  at  one 
spot  on  the  atlas  with  Erin  Point  and  Erin  Hill ;  but  with  these 
exceptions  British  names  are  very  few.  The  black  nursemaids, 
who  chatter  for  ever  on  the  seats  in  the  park,  talk  in  French,  while 
in  the  streets  Spanish  will  be  heard  nearly  as  often  as  English. 

The  residential  parts  of  Port  of  Spain  and  the  suburbs 
generally  are  most  delightful.  On  the  outskirts  of  the  town  is  a 
wide  stretch  of  green,  the  Savannah,  the  delight  and  pride  of 
Trinidad.  This  "  level  mead  "  is  surrounded  on  one  side  by  a 
semi-circle  of  many-peaked  hills  which  are  covered  with  trees  to 
their  summits.  It  is  as  if  behind  the  open  plain  of  Hyde  Park 
there  rose,  as  a  background,  the  foot  hills  of  the  Himalayas. 
Casual  paths  wander  across  this  great  stretch  of  green,  just  as  in 
any  urban  pleasure-ground,  but  there  are  features  in  the  Savannah 
which  would  look  curious  in  a  London  park.  Among  such  are 
a  clump  of  palms  standing  alone,  the  palings  and  grand-stand  of 
a  race-course,  and,  above  all,  a  curious  little  old-world  cemetery 
within  a  high  wall.  The  enclosure  for  the  dead  is  hushed  by  the 
shade  of  many  trees,  so  that  when  the  Savannah  is  made  riotous 
by  horse-racing  or  polo  matches  the  cattle  creep  under  the  old 
walls  and  so  find  peace. 

In  a  circle  round  the  Savannah  are  brilliant  villas  standing  in 
still  more  brilliant  gardens  where  are  the  blood-coloured  poin- 
settia,  the  blue  convolvulus,  the  fan  palm,  lavish  creepers  of  every 
tint,  strange  cacti  like  candelabra,  and  a  very  thicket  of  flowering 
trees. 

It  is  in  these  pleasant  places  at  sundown  that  the  fire-flies  are 
to  be  seen— curious  little  specks  of  light  wandering  in  the 
shadows.  There  is  a  languor  about  their  movement,  a  listless 
uncertainty  in  their  flight,  as  if  they  were  tired  gnomes  with 
lanterns  searching  for  something  that  was  never  to  be  found.     As 


6o  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

the  amber  yellow  spark  moves  up  through  the  purple  it  vanishes 
disappointed.  It  comes  towards  you  through  the  grass,  and  when 
so  near  that  you  dare  not  breathe  it  dies  away.  The  light-carrier 
seems  to  weary  so  soon,  while  the  light,  as  if  weakened  by 
centuries  of  searching,  seems  hard  to  keep  aglow. 

The  East  Indians  of  Port  of  Spain  congregate  in  an  untidy 
suburb  called  Coolie-town.  Here,  surrounded  by  palms,  bare 
earth,  kerosine  tins,  goats,  children  and  fowls,  are  lines  of  huts, 
some  of  mud  and  wattle,  some  of  wood,  some  of  corrugated  iron. 
They  are  all  of  the  packing-case  or  fowl-house  type  of  construc- 
tion. There  are  among  them  sickly-looking  shops  as  well  as 
companies  of  women  bright  with  bracelets  and  rings  who  squat  on 
the  ground  before  baskets  full  of  yams,  bananas,  oranges  and  salt 
fish.  The  place  is  as  little  like  an  Indian  bazaar  as  China-town 
in  San  Francisco  is  like  the  alleys  of  Canton,  but  it  is  as  full  of 
strong  colours  and  strong  smells. 

Everywhere  about  the  suburbs  will  be  seen  the  solemn  tick 
bird,  a  black  bird  with  a  heavy  hooked  beak,  a  long  tail  and — as 
its  name  implies — useful  habits.  Everywhere,  too,  can  be  heard  an 
irrepressible  yellow-brown  bird  who  spends  its  life  in  calling  out, 
"  Qu'est-ce  qu'il  dit  ?  "  Never  in  this  world  has  a  question  been 
asked  so  often.  The  inquirer  always  lays  great  emphasis  on  the 
word  "  dit,"  sometimes  adopting  a  querulous  tone  and  sometimes 
a  suggestion  of  remonstrance.  The  purity  of  the  French  varies 
with  the  individual  fowl,  but  it  seems  to  be  generally  spoken  with 
an  American  accent.  If  a  person  were  lying  seriously  ill  in 
Trinidad  I  should  imagine  that  the  first  care  would  be  not  to  put 
straw  down  before  the  open  window  but  to  drive  the  "  Qu'est-ce 
qu'il  dit  ?  "  birds  out  of  hearing. 

The  flying  things,  however,  for  which  the  island  is  most 
famous  are  the  humming-birds.  They  were  to  be  seen,  at  the 
time  of  my  stay,  in  great  numbers  in  the  beautiful  garden  by 
Government  House.  They  elected  to  come  there  between  7  and 
7.30  in  the  morning.  It  was  about  this  hour  that  the  sun  fell 
upon  a  certain  bed  of  scarlet  flowers  to  which  they  seemed  to  be 
devoted.     They  came  from  all  sides,  tiny  winged  wonders  of  blue. 


TRINIDAD.  6i 

green  and  gold,  that  for  a  moment  one  took  to  be  great  bees. 
They  were  so  capricious,  so  alert,  so  quick  as  to  be  hard  to  follow. 
They  sucked  the  honey  from  each  flower  while  on  the  wing. 
They  hung  before  the  scarlet  calyx  in  an  ecstasy  of  worship,  each 
little  suppliant  a  whirl  of  green  and  gold.  The  vibrating  wings 
could  not  be  seen.  There  was  merely  a  poised  palpitating  body 
with  a  dizzy  halo  on  either  side  of  it.  Nothing  could  exceed 
the  intenseness,  the  fervour,  the  exaltation  of  these  little  flower 
worshippers.  It  was  not  until  they  rested,  with  shut  wings,  on 
a  spray  near  by  that  they  turned  to  birds  again.  Thus,  so  long 
as  the  good  sun  shone  each  seemed  to  live 

A  loving  little  life  of  sweet  small  works. 


62  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 


XI. 

HOLY   ISLAND   AND   THE   FORT   IN   THE   WOOD. 

It  was  on  July  31,  1498,  that  the  island  of  Lincoln  green  was 
discovered.  The  adventurer  was  Columbus  who,  with  three  ships, 
was  making  for  the  south  on  his  third  and  most  fateful  voyage. 
He  came,  as  heretofore,  eager  in  the  search  for  treasure.  He 
followed  that  same  will-o'-the-wisp  whose  light  was  ever  to  him  a 
gleam  of  gold,  and  who  led  him  all  his  days. 

There  was  in  his  mind  the  belief  that  as  he  neared  the  Equator 
he  would  drift  into  a  belt  of  great  heat,  where  would  be  a  burnt-up 
land,  natives  the  colour  of  jet,  and  gold  and  precious  stones  in 
much  abundance.  He  had  pictured  it  all — the  arid  shore,  the 
crackling  scrub,  the  amazed  black  folk,  the  sparkle  of  gold  in  the 
scorching  rocks,  the  glow  of  rubies  among  the  pebbles.  There 
had  been  some  foretaste  already  of  this  fiery  land,  for  on  the 
way  he  had  glided  into  a  windless  calm  where  the  sea  was  as 
polished  metal,  with  only  a  shark's  fin  here  and  there  to  tell  that 
it  was  not  solid,  where  the  bewildered  ships  hung  motionless  with 
their  prows  turned  different  ways,  where  his  men  fell  faint  with 
the  heat  and  blind  with  the  whiteness  of  the  light,  and  where  the 
seams  of  the  vessels  gaped  as  the  timbers  shrunk  in  the  sun.  The 
water  in  the  casks  was  nearly  spent,  while  from  the  stifling  hatch 
came  up,  like  an  evil  steam,  the  reek  of  rotting  meat. 

The  voyage  had  been  the  subject  of  many  prayers,  of  many 
portents,  of  many  vows,  for  to  the  treasure  seeker  groping  in  the 
dark  there  was  no  hand  to  guide  but  that  from  heaven.  The 
venture  had  been  undertaken  in  the  name  of  the  Most  Blessed 
Trinity,  to  whom  was  to  be  modestly  ascribed  whatever  glory 
misrht  befall  its  endeavour. 


4 


HOLY  ISLAND  AND  THE  FORT   IN  THE  WOOD.  63 

It  seems  to  have  been  about  the  hour  of  noon  when  a  servant, 
climbing  to  the  mast-head  for  the  fiftieth  time,  saw  land  to  the 
west  and  yelled  the  news  down  to  the  deck.  In  a  while  the 
gazers  from  the  poop  saw  rise  out  of  the  sea  three  mountain  peaks 
united  at  their  bases  into  one. 

Here,  in  this  vision  of  the  three  in  one,  was  a  wondrous  miracle, 
an  answer  to  months  of  prayer,  an  evidence  that  all  the  way  the 
Holy  Three  had  stood  by  the  side  of  the  unconscious  helmsman. 
Thus  it  came  about  that  the  island  was  named  La  Trinidad. 

At  once  all  hands  were  called  on  deck  for  prayers  and  for  the 
singing  together  of  the  hymn  "  Salve  Regina."  To  many  of  the 
bareheaded  crew  this  kind  of  chant  was  unfamiliar,  for  they  were 
the  sweepings  of  the  jails  of  Castile.  Still,  with  some  heartiness 
the  harsh  song  rose — together  with  the  smell  of  putrid  meat — 
into  the  blue  of  a  tropical  afternoon. 

The  three  peaks  were  the  "  Three  Sisters  "  which  stand  by  the 
sea  in  the  south-east  corner  of  the  island.  As  the  shore  was 
approached  another  wonder  appeared.  In  the  place  of  the  arid 
uplands  of  the  admiral's  surmise  was  a  wealth  of  soft,  delicious 
verdure  beyond  all  imagining. 

Columbus  cruised  along  the  south  coast  of  the  promised  land 
until  he  came  to  Cape  Icacos,  where  he  turned  north  through  the 
"  Serpent's  Mouth  "  into  the  Gulf  of  Paria.  While  the  ships  were 
anchored  in  the  entry  of  the  channel  by  Cape  Icacos,  a  great  tidal 
wave  bore  down  upon  them  with  much  foaming  and  roaring. 
Two  of  the  ships  dragged  their  anchors  from  the  bottom,  but  the 
cable  of  the  third  ship  parted  so  that  the  anchor  was  lost.  In 
1877,  three  centuries  and  more  after  this  episode,  an  ancient 
anchor  was  dredged  up  off  this  very  cape.  It  stands  now  in  the 
garden  of  the  Victoria  Institute  in  Port  of  Spain,  and  there  are 
those  who  have  the  boldness  to  state  that  it  is  the  identical  anchor 
lost  that  day  in  1498,  for  it  bears,  without  any  apparent  embarrass- 
ment, the  title  "  Columbus'  Anchor." 

It  was  not  until  a  day  or  so  after  making  the  land  that  any 
natives  were  encountered.  They  were  found  to  be  of  even  fairer 
complexion  than  those  met  with  on  previous  voyages.     Columbus 


64  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

had  apparently  formed  an  idea  of  fascinating  the  savage  by  means 
of  music,  after  the  manner  of  the  snake-charmer.  He  had  on 
board  for  this  purpose  a  band  of  musicians.  They  came  from  the 
Spanish  seaport,  and,  as  exponents  of  their  art,  might  be  repre- 
sented at  the  present  day  by  strolHng  fiddlers  from  the  Yarmouth 
sands.  The  first  natives  who  appeared  were  in  a  canoe,  and 
seemed  disposed  to  be  very  offensive.  At  once  the  artists  were 
called  on  deck  to  put  forth  their  charm.  They  commenced  to  play. 
The  piece  would,  no  doubt,  have  been  the  latest  music-hall  song 
of  the  time.  The  natives  listened  ;  seemed  puzzled  ;  stared  at  one 
another,  and  then  with  one  accord  discharged  a  full  flight  of 
arrows  at  the  would-be  sirens.     The  experiment  had  failed. 

Many  wonderful  things  happened  on  this  voyage,  but  the 
most  wonderful  of  all  was  this.  On  entering  the  Gulf  of  Paria 
some  low  insignificant  land  was  seen  on  the  south-west,  Columbus, 
no  doubt,  scanned  it  steadfastly  enough.  He  was  gazing  for  the 
first  time  in  his  travels  upon  the  coast  of  the  great  continent  of 
America,  but  he  knew  it  not.^  He  believed  that  the  land  he  saw 
was  an  island — an  insignificant  island.  He  called  it  Isla  Sancta. 
Thus  it  came  about  that  the  earliest  name  of  America  was  Holy 
Island.  A  little  later  he  caught  sight  of  peaks  on  the  mainland  at 
Paria.  He  considered  that  they  belonged  to  another  island, 
whereupon,  being  in  a  soft  religious  mood,  he  named  it  the 
Island  of  Grace. 

The  three  ships  cruised  round  the  gulf  skirting  the  mainland, 
A  party  went  on  shore  to  formally  take  possession  of  the  Island 
of  Grace,  otherwise  America,  in  the  names  of  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella.  Columbus  never  landed.  Although  only  forty-seven 
years  of  age  he  was  already  an  old  man,  and  was  at  the  moment 
much  reduced  by  gout  and  a  painful  disorder  of  the  eyes.  So  he 
stayed  within  his  cabin  and  while  he  lay  in  his  berth  watching  the 
ripples  of  the  sunlit  sea  reflected  on  the  deck  above  him  he  fell 
a-thinking.  He  was  an  imaginative  man  whose  mind  was  alive 
with  fancies,  so  he  soon  peopled  the  mean  cabin  with  dazzling 
dreams.     He  had  no  thought  of  mere  continents,  no  thought  even 

'  America  was  first  sighted  by  John  Cabot  in  1497' 


HOLY  ISLAND  AND  THE  FORT  IN  THE  WOOD.  65 

of  a  continent  greater  than  any  yet  known  to  the  civilised  world. 
His  dream  was  more  wonderful  than  all  that.  From  certain  signs 
and  from  subtle  calculations  he  was  convinced  that  in  this  very 
Gulf  of  Paria  he  had  discovered  the  Garden  of  Eden.  While  he 
lay  a-thinking,  with  his  aching  eyes  closed,  a  smile  would  come 
over  his  face  as  he  composed  the  phrases  of  that  despatch  which 
would  announce  to  the  pious  queen  that  he  had  found  the  Earthly 
Paradise.  His  only  idea  now  was  to  press  on  to  Espanola  so  that 
he  might  send  the  great  news  post-haste  to  Spain. 

One  effect  of  the  despatch,  when  it  did  arrive,  was  to  cause  an 
old  comrade  of  Columbus,  one  Alonso  de  Ojeda,  to  start  at  once  for 
Paria.  He  sailed  thither,  not  with  any  hallowed  wish  to  see  the 
Tree  of  Life,  but  simply  with  the  determination  to  make  money, 
for  the  admiral  had  said  that  pearls  were  to  be  found  on  this 
shore  as  well  as  mementos  of  our  first  parents.  With  Ojeda 
went  the  Italian,  Amerigo  Vespucci,  whom  Filson  Young  speaks 
of  as  the  "  meat  contractor."  ^  They  came  upon  a  placid  bay 
where  the  natives  had  built  their  huts  on  piles  in  the  water.  The 
little  village  reminded  the  Italian  of  Venice,  so  the  place  was  called 
Venezuela,  or  Little  Venice,  which  name  it  holds  to  this  day. 

Another  curious  outcome  of  this  voyage  was  the  circumstance 
that  the  vast  continent  itself  come  to  be  called  America  after  this 
same  Amerigo,  the  "  meat  contractor." 

It  was  not  until  near  about  the  year  1532  that  the  Spaniards 
undertook  the  colonisation  of  Trinidad.  They  succeeded  so  in- 
differently that  the  welfare  of  the  island  came  in  time  to  depend 
mainly  upon  certain  energetic  French  settlers  who  landed  at  La 
Trinidad  two  centuries  later. 

In  due  course  the  inevitable  British  made  their  unwelcome 
appearance.  It  was  in  1797.  They  arrived  one  day  in  February 
to  the  number  of  8000  strong.  Their  ships  blustered  through  the 
Bocas,  jostling  one  another  as  they  swarmed  down  the  gap  on  the 
whirlpool  of  a  tide.  The  Spanish  governor  was  Don  Josef  Maria 
Chacon,  a  gallant  man  enough,  but  his  garrison  was  so  reduced  by 
yellow  fever,  disaffection  and  long  inactivity  that  he  was  unable  to 

*  Christopher  Columbus,  hy  Filson  Young,  vol.  ii.  page  91  ;  London,  1906. 

F 


66  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

oppose  the  eager  host  So  he  set  fire  to  his  ships,  sat  himself 
down  on  the  quayside  and  wept  over  his  lost  island.  The  English, 
under  Abercromby,  landed  near  Port  of  Spain  and  pushing  towards 
the  place  took  it  with  the  loss  of  but  one  single  man.  A  few  shots 
were  exchanged  some  two  miles  outside  the  town,  but  with  this 
exception  there  was  no  resistance. 

On  Laventille  Hill  there  is  even  now  to  be  seen  an  interesting 
relic  of  this  day  when  the  British  captured  Trinidad.  The  green 
hill  commands  the  town.  It  is  steep  of  ascent,  yet  houses  and 
gardens  climb  up  nearly  to  the  top  of  it,  clinging  on  to  any  helpful 
ledge  by  the  side  of  the  unkempt  road.  On  the  apex  of  the 
height  is  a  pale  church,  looking  seawards,  and  near  it  a  school- 
house  where  the  droning  sing-song  of  negro  children  seems  to 
oifer  a  sleepy  answer  to  the  brisk  ever-repeated  question  of  the 
"  Qu'est-ce  qu'il  dit  ?  "  bird. 

On  this  hilltop  and  entirely  hidden  by  jungle  is  an  old  Spanish 
fort,  the  taking  of  which  gave  Trinidad  to  Britain.  It  capped  the 
last  height  to  be  cleared,  it  marks  the  spot  where  the  last  surly 
man  threw  down  his  arms,  it  was  the  last  fort  to  surrender.  It 
represents  the  final  hold  that  the  failing  fingers  of  Spain  ever  had 
upon  the  island  of  the  Trinity.  Here,  in  this  little  stone  redoubt, 
came  to  an  end  a  tenancy  which  had  lasted  just  upon  three 
hundred  years. 

The  fort  is  hard  to  find,  for  the  jungle  has  crept  too  zealously 
around  it.  It  lies  in  the  eternal  shadow  of  green  trees,  while  so 
overgrown  is  it  with  brambles  that  it  might  be  a  barbican  of  the 
Palace  of  the  Sleeping  Beauty.  Like  a  secret  rendezvous  in  a 
wood  it  is  approached  by  a  path  known  to  few.  This  last  strong- 
hold of  Spain,  this  redoubt  of  the  dead,  is  a  sturdy  little  place  of 
grey  stone,  well  and  solemnly  built.  Its  walls  are  of  astounding 
thickness ;  its  paved  court,  that  once  echoed  with  the  clang  of 
arms,  is  now  a  wild  garden,  a  mere  tangle  of  green,  a  court 
whose  silence  is  broken  only  by  the  patter  of  rain  and  the  song 
of  birds. 

It  is  interesting  to  think  that  this  leaf-embowered  fort  was 
known  to  Picton,  and  must  have  been  often  and  often  visited  by 


HOLY  ISLAND  AND  THE  FORT  IN  THE  WOOD.  67 

him,  Picton  landed  with  Abercromby  when  he  took  Trinidad. 
He  was  left  behind  as  governor  with  1000  men.  This  was  the 
heroic  Picton  who  was  Wellington's  right  hand  in  the  Penin- 
sular war,  who  conducted  the  siege  of  Badajoz,  who  was  wounded 
at  Quatre  Bras  (but  told  no  one  of  his  hurt),  and  who,  two  days 
later,  was  killed  at  Waterloo  by  a  Dullet  through  the  brain,  while 
charging  at  the  head  of  his  men.  His  portrait,  in  the  National 
Portrait  Gallery,  is  that  of  a  grey-haired  man,  strong  and  alert, 
clean-shaven,  with  determined  lips  and  most  wondrous  piercing 
eyes.  If  any  were  to  seek  a  face  which  might  be  taken  as  a  type 
of  the  British  soldier  it  can  be  found  in  this  portrait  of  Picton. 

Picton  left  his  mark  in  Trinidad.  Even  the  road  that  leads 
down  from  the  bramble-covered  fort  is  called  Picton's  Road. 
He  was  a  great  and  virile  administrator  who,  like  many  others 
of  his  metal,  was  worried  out  of  office  by  petty  interference 
from  home.  Indeed,  in  1803,  he  was  arrested  on  a  charge  of 
cruelty  perpetrated  during  his  governorship.  He  was  accused  of 
torturing  a  miserable  creature  named  Luise  Calderon,  in  order 
to  extort  from  her  a  confession  respecting  the  robbing  of  her 
master.  The  trial  of  this  woman  had  been  conducted  according 
to  Spanish  law,  and  the  alcaide  had  begged  the  governor  to  allow 
him  to  have  recourse  to  the  *'  picket."  Picton  gave  his  permission. 
The  "  picket "  consisted  in  making  the  prisoner  stand  on  one  leg 
on  a  flat-headed  stake  or  picket  driven  into  the  ground  for  any 
time  not  exceeding  one  hour.     Under  this  ordeal  Luise  confessed. 

Picton  was  tried  in  England  in  1806  and  found  guilty.  Anew 
trial  was  claimed,  at  the  conclusion  of  which  Picton  was  found  to 
have  acted  without  malice,  but  no  judgment  was  delivered.  In 
this  bald  way  the  incident  ended.  The  people  of  Trinidad  sub- 
scribed 4000/.  towards  the  popular  governor's  law  expenses,  but 
a  fire  having  broken  out  in  Port  of  Spain  a  short  while  after, 
Picton  sent  all  the  money  back  to  help  those  who  had  suffered 
in  the  disaster.  Such  is  the  man  with  whom  the  little  stone  fort 
on  the  top  of  Laventille  Hill  must  be  for  ever  associated. 


68  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 


XI  t. 

ST.  JOSEPH. 

Some  seven  miles  from  Port  of  Spain  is  the  village  of  St.  Joseph— 
as  picturesque  a  little  townlet  as  is  to  be  found  in  the  West  Indies. 
It  stands  at  the  foot  of  the  northern  heights,  just  where  they  step 
out  into  the  plain,  so  that  it  has  behind  it,  ridge  above  ridge,  the 
guardian  hills,  while  in  front  is  a  rueful  flat,  the  Caroni  swamp, 
stretching  away  to  the  sea. 

St.  Joseph  stands  on  a  small  green  hill  of  its  own,  placed  at 
the  mouth  of  a  gorge  from  out  of  whose  shadows  bursts  the 
St.  Joseph  river. 

The  two  streets  which  compose  the  village  climb  up  the  mound 
from  two  points,  meet  at  the  top,  linger  about  a  village  green,  a 
slumbering  convent  and  a  church,  and  then  tumble  untidily  down 
on  the  other  side.  The  town  itself  is  nearly  buried  among  trees 
and  lost  among  gardens. 

Here  is  a  white-walled,  brown-shuttered  villa  in  a  jungle  of 
green,  with  nothing  but  a  fragile  paling  to  keep  the  bushes  from 
straying  into  the  road.  Here  is  a  cottage  covered  up  to  its  red 
roof  by  a  yellow  creeper,  then  come  a  grove  of  bananas,  a  lean 
ascetic  cactus,  a  merry  clump  of  whispering  acacias,  more  white 
villas,  a  few  thatched  huts,  a  solitary  palm.  There  are  shops  in 
one  street,  but  if  the  sun  be  upon  them  the  shopkeeper  and  his  dog 
will  be  both  asleep,  and  if  they  be  in  the  shade,  well,  then  a  counter 
is  a  comfortable  thing  to  loll  across  and  talk. 

Life  is  not  taken  seriously  in  St.  Joseph  ;  there  is  ever  present 
the  conceit  that  its  merchants  are  merely  playing  at  shopkeeping, 
so  that  one  would  not  be  surprised  to  see  Peter  Pan  and  Wendy 
counting  out  oranges  in  one  of  the  bright-coloured  "  stores." 


ST.   JOSEPH.  69 

It  is  always  summer  at  St.  Joseph,  at  this  little  "  love-in-a- 
cottage  "  town.  The  villas,  one  might  suppose,  are  occupied  by 
happy  couples  who  came  here  on  their  honeymoon  and  have 
never  had  the  heart  to  go  back  to  the  world  again. 

Kingsley  thought  that  if  only  there  was  a  telegraph  cable  to 
the  island  "  then  would  San  Josef  be  about  the  most  delectable  spot 
he  had  ever  seen  for  a  cultivated  and  civilised  man  to  live  and 
work  and  think  and  die  in." 

The  town  may  be  small,  yet  the  sense  it  gives  of  unbounded 
leisure  is  very  vast ;  it  may  be  lowly,  yet  the  depths  of  its  peaceful- 
ness  are  magnificent.  It  lies  curled  up  on  the  top  of  its  little 
hill  like  a  purring  cat  in  the  sun.  It  may  look  up  and  stretch  itself 
now  and  then  on  a  gala  day,  but  it  will  soon  cuddle  back  into 
quietude  again.  This  sleepy-head  village,  this  happy-go-lucky 
town,  this  most  lovable  little  garden  city  is  no  mere  bucolic 
hamlet.  It  is  called  St.  Joseph,  but  its  right  name  and  title  is  no 
less  than  San  Jose  de  Oruna,  the  one-time  capital  of  Trinidad. 

It  was  founded  by  the  Spaniards  as  long  ago  as  the  end  of  the 
sixteenth  century.  From  this  tiny  hill  the  entire  island  was 
governed.  From  hence  thundered  forth  commands  at  which  the 
whole  settlement  trembled. 

From  hence  came  all  the  news  of  the  world  beyond  the  seas. 
It  was  a  place  that  held  its  head  very  high,  for  upon  the  summit 
of  the  castle  flew  the  proud  banner  of  Spain.  In  the  streets  of  the 
town,  too,  there  once  walked,  clad  in  full  armour  and  deep  in 
thought,  the  romantic  figure  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh. 

All  the  restless  glory  has  long  since  passed  away.  San  ]os6 
de  Oruna,  the  Versailles  of  Trinidad,  has  done  with  pomp  and  the 
burdens  of  authority.  The  twitter  of  birds  and  the  rustle  of  leaves 
have  replaced  the  trumpet  blast,  the  tramp  of  armed  men,  the 
shuffle  of  obsequious  feet.  San  Jose  takes  its  old  age  very 
prettily  and  its  retirement  with  idyllic  grace.  It  is  content  to  be 
the  village  of  the  love  story,  the  place  of  the  hushed  garden,  the 
city  that  was.  It  has  no  concern  with  the  whirl  of  progress.  Port 
of  Spain  is  now  the  capital.  There  will  be  found  plate-glass 
windows,  electric    tramways,  rattling   cars,   yelling   newsvendors, 


70  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

telephones  and  tourists.  San  Jose  is  satisfied  to  doze  in  the 
warmth.  Its  past  is  unsighed  for  and  its  future  unconsidered.  It 
takes  its  motto  from  Sancho  Panza  : 

There  is  still  sun  on  the  wall. 

The  village  green  of  St.  Joseph  is  a  small  open  space  on  the 
slope  of  the  hill,  where  it  is  shaded  by  a  cluster  of  glorious  trees. 
It  would  be  called  a  savannah  if  it  were  not  so  petty  and  so  very 
child-like.  In  the  centre  of  this  diminutive  common  are  three 
stone  graves,  surrounded  by  iron  railings.  One  is  uninscribed,  but 
the  other  two  bear  the  names  of  officers  of  the  14th  Regiment  of 
Foot,  who  died  respectively  in  1802  and  the  year  after.  This 
calls  to  mind  the  fact  that  the  English  established  a  garrison  at 
St.  Joseph,  and  that  the  barracks,  long  since  demolished,  were 
by  the  side  of  this  quaint,  unambitious  green. 

There  is  a  certain  hideous  memory  associated  with  the 
military  post  of  St.  Joseph.  In  1837  a  number  of  the  negro 
troops  broke  out  into  mutiny.  They  were  led  by  a  giant  named 
Dclaga,  a  savage  of  superhuman  strength  and  the  ferocity  of  a 
tiger.  It  was  on  the  night  of  June  17  that  the  inhabitants  of  the 
town  were  awakened  from  sleep  by  a  sound  like  the  roar  of  wild 
beasts.  It  was  the  war  cry  of  some  two  hundred  and  eighty 
desperate  helots.  As  men  barricaded  their  doors,  and  women  hid 
in  cellars,  they  could  see  through  the  cracks  of  the  shutters  the 
red  glare  of  burning  barracks,  and  could  hear  the  rattle  of 
musketry  and  the  rushing  by  of  many  feet. 

The  trouble  was  soon  over.  Daaga  was  taken,  but  not  until 
a  host  of  his  followers  had  been  shot  down  by  disciplined  troops. 
Daaga  and  two  others  of  the  ringleaders  were  condemned  to 
death.  Their  execution  remains  a  dreadful  nightmare  in  the  long 
daydream  of  this  gentle  town.  It  was  on  a  morning  in  August 
that  they  died.  On  the  hillside,  close  to  the  children's  common, 
three  graves  had  been  dug  in  the  red  earth.  The  narrow  pits 
faced  to  the  east  so  that  the  morning  sun  fell  aslant  into  them 
On  three  sides  of  a  hollow  square  stood  the  men  of  the 
89th  Regiment.     On  the  fourth  side  were  the  graves. 


ST.   JOSEPH.  71 

The  scene  beyond  the  awful  square  was  as  enchanting  as  any 
in  the  world.  The  absolute  silence  was  at  last  broken  by  the 
sound  of  men  advancing  to  the  music  of  the  "  Dead  March."  At 
the  head  of  the  procession  three  coffins  were  carried,  then  came 
the  three  mutineers  in  a  line,  with  the  giant  Daaga  in  their  midst, 
still  scowling,  still  defiant,  still  spluttering  curses.  The  three  were 
clad  from  neck  to  foot  in  robes  of  white  trimmed  with  a  deep 
border  of  black.  In  marching  they  kept  step  instinctively  with 
the  muffled  drums.  The  sun  threw  long  and  ghastly  shadows 
of  them  on  the  gorgeous  green  across  which  the  white  figures 
moved.     Behind  the  three  came  the  firing  party. 

Then,  in  a  silence  that  was  full  of  horror,  the  sentence  of  death 
was  read.  The  chaplain  stammered  a  prayer.  Over  the  face 
of  each  mutineer  a  cap  was  drawn,  but  Daaga  pushed  his  up  with 
an  oath,  and  with  the  fury  of  a  beast  at  bay.  "  Was  he  a  child  ? 
Did  he  fear  death  or  the  thrice  accursed  English  ?  No.  He 
would  die  uncovered  so  that  they  could  see  to  the  last  the  hate  in 
his  eyes  ! "  Men  held  their  breath  as  the  marshal's  sharp  words  of 
command  rang  forth,  "  Ready  !  Present !  Fire  !  "  With  the  volley 
came  the  sound  of  three  dull  thuds  on  the  earth,  and  then  the 
rattle  of  the  muskets  was  echoed  back  faintly  from  the  smiling 
woods  and  the  sunlit  hills.  Awed  groups  who  stood  expectant  in 
the  distant  streets  shuddered  as  though  the  echo  had  come  from 
the  nether  world. 


;2  THE   CRADLE   OF  THE   DEEP. 


XIII. 

EL  DORADO. 

From  the  summit  of  the  hill  of  St.  Joseph  is  a  very  wide  view 
of  the  sea,  and  of  the  far  mountains  of  South  America.  Seen 
through  the  haze  of  a  cloudless  noon,  these  mountains  are  pearl 
grey,  unsubstantial  and  mysterious.  Many  have,  no  doubt,  been 
fascinated  by  the  prospect,  but  there  was  one  Englishman,  long 
years  ago,  who  was  absolutely  transfigured  by  the  contemplation 
of  the  scene. 

It  would  not  be  unreasonable  to  suppose  that  Raleigh  obtained 
his  first  clear  survey  of  these  mountains  from  the  hill  of  St.  Joseph. 
He  had  come  from  very  far  to  see  them  ;  he  had  pictured  them  in 
his  brain  a  thousand  times  as  he  brooded  in  his  study  at  Sher- 
borne. These  were  the  uplands  of  El  Dorado.  Somewhere 
beyond  the  heights  was  the  city  of  unfathomed  wealth.  It  was  all 
to  be  his  and  his  Queen's. 

He  knew  whereabouts  the  city  lay,  for  he  had  studied  many 
descriptions  of  it.  He  was  learned  in  the  fabulous  geography  of 
the  land.  He  doubted  nothing  that  he  had  read,  and  little  that  he 
had  heard.  He  was  as  certain  of  the  existence  of  the  golden  town 
as  he  was  of  the  locality  of  Paris.  He  was  as  sure  of  its  streets  of 
gold  as  he  was  of  the  golden  plain  of  buttercups  in  the  meadows 
by  Sherborne. 

If  the  imaginative  Raleigh  could  have  seen  into  the  future, 
as  he  gazed  westwards,  he  would  have  beheld,  in  place  of  the 
spires  of  the  wondrous  city,  a  headsman's  block  in  the  clouds,  for 
this  very  vision  was  to  lead  him  to  his  ruin.  He  was  lured  once 
again  to  this  fateful  coast,  but  with  his  second  coming  his  earthly 
voyagings  ended.     His  sailing  days  were  over.     He  had  hoped, 


EL   DORADO.  73 

when  he  turned  homewards,  to  have  laid  the  wealth  of  the  world 
at  his  sovereign's  feet,  but  his  only  welcome  was  from  the  crowd 
who  waited  in  Old  Palace  Yard  to  see  him  die. 

El  Dorado  was  a  daring  fiction  of  the  sixteenth  century.  The 
country  was  situated,  so  the  fable  said,  in  Guiana,  between  the 
rivers  Amazon  and  Orinoco.  It  was  rich  in  all  kinds  of  precious 
metals,  and  ablaze  with  priceless  gems.  Its  chief  city  was  Manoa, 
a  place  of  great  size  and  magnificence,  reared  upon  the  banks  of 
Lake  Parima.  This  mythical  inland  sea  was  200  leagues  long. 
So  engrafted  was  the  figment  of  El  Dorado  upon  the  minds  of 
men  that  the  great  lake  Parima  found  a  place  on  all  sober  maps 
up  to  the  time  of  Humboldt.  The  houses  in  Manoa  were  covered 
with  plates  of  gold.  Temples  and  palaces  were  there  of  dazzling 
splendour,  together  with  immense  statues  and  thrones  of  solid 
gold.  Indeed  this  metal  seems  to  have  been  even  too  abundant 
in  the  city,  for  billets  of  gold  were  reported  to  be  lying  about  in 
heaps  in  the  byways,  like  faggots  of  wood  stacked  for  the  winter 
fire.  There  was  also  near  the  town  a  superb  garden  of  pleasure, 
wherein  was  every  imagined  delight. 

Numerous  expeditions  had  been  made  to  this  surprising 
country  before  the  time  of  Raleigh's  coming,  but,  lamentable  to 
say,  they  had  all  failed  with  more  or  less  hideous  disaster.  One 
enthusiast  of  the  name  of  Philip  von  Hutten  believed  that  he  had 
caught  a  sight  of  the  golden  city.  If  he  did  it  was  only  in  the 
delirium  of  fever,  yet  the  fancy  led  on  further  hordes  of  stumbling 
men,  who  pressed  forward  to  the  phantom  city  until  they  fell  dead 
by  the  way  of  arrow  wounds,  starvation  or  disease. 

The  chief  authority  on  El  Dorado  was  a  Spaniard  known  as 
Juan  Martinez,  who  declared  that  in  1534  he  had  spent  seven 
months  in  Manoa  with  considerable  enjoyment.  Martinez  was 
quite  a  simple  man,  a  mere  "master  of  the  munition,"  yet  his 
name  will  live  for  ever  as  that  of  the  most  fertile  liar  the  world 
has  known.  He  was  conducted,  he  said,  from  Manoa  to  the 
Spanish  frontier,  blindfolded,  but  laden  with  treasure  of  every 
kind.  Of  this  wealth  he  was  robbed  before  he  reached  the  coast. 
He  had,  therefore,  no  souvenirs  of  Manoa  to  show  to  his  friends  and 


74  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

no  precise  knowledge  to  give  them  of  the  route  to  the  city.  On 
his  way  home  he  reached  as  far  as  San  Juan  in  the  island  of 
Puerto  Rico.  Here  in  a  hushed  chamber  he  died,  surrounded  by 
all  the  comforts  of  religion. 

It  was  when  he  was  on  his  deathbed  and  "without  hope  of 
life"  that  he  gave  to  the  holy  men  about  him  his  account  of 
Manoa.  This  wonderful  story  fell  from  his  failing  lips  after  he 
had  received  the  sacrament.  Possibly  the  monks  added  a  little 
to  the  tale ;  possibly  it  was  wholly  their  invention  ;  possibly  they 
misconstrued  the  mutterings  of  the  dying  man  altogether,  as  he 
babbled  of  a  city  of  pure  gold,  of  "  a  wall  great  and  high "  that 
was  built  of  jasper,  of  streets  that  "  had  no  need  of  the  sun,"  of 
the  river  of  life  clear  as  crystal.  It  may  be  that  the  last  half- 
whispered  words  uttered,  when  the  world  had  already  faded  from 
his  tired  eyes,  were  such  as  these — "  the  fifth,  sardonyx  ;  the  sixth, 
sardius  ;  the  seventh,  chrysolyte  ;  the  eighth " 

It  matters  little  upon  whom  the  mantle  of  Ananias  may  have 
fallen  at  Puerto  Rico ;  the  story,  as  it  came  to  Sir  Walter  Raleigh, 
was  after  this  fashion.  About  the  year  1534  an  expedition  of 
630  men  set  out  to  discover  El  Dorado  under  the  leadership  of 
Diego  Ordas.  In  this  company  was  Martinez  the  wonder-teller. 
The  enterprise  ended  in  rueful  failure ;  Ordas  was  murdered  and 
nothing — not  even  a  nugget  of  gold — was  discovered.  During 
the  unhappy  journey  Martinez  incurred  the  wrath  of  his  leader  to 
such  a  degree  that  Ordas  turned  him  adrift  in  a  canoe  to  sink  or 
starve  as  he  liked.  Martinez,  as  he  glided  down  stream  in  the 
empty  boat,  was  captured  by  Indians  in  a  manner  approved  of  in 
every  tale  for  boys.  The  natives  took  him  to  Manoa  as  a  curious 
creature  they  had  caught  in  the  woods.  He  seems  to  have  been 
exhibited  as  a  freak,  as  if  he  had  been  a  bearded  woman  or  a 
two-headed  ox.  Whether  he  was  shown  in  a  booth  sitting  on 
those  gold  billets  which  were  so  common  in  the  town,  or  whether 
he  was  invited  to  parties  and  bazaars  to  amuse  the  smart  people 
of  Manoa  matters  little.  He  saw  all  there  was  to  be  seen  and 
treasured  every  astonishing  item  in  his  mind. 

He  seems,  as  a  man  of  taste,  to  have  had  a  curious  concep- 


EL   DORADO.  75 

tion  of  what  constitutes  "  the  height  of  luxury."  This  realisation 
of  supreme  bliss  was  to  be  witnessed  whenever  Manoa  was 
honoured  by  a  state  banquet.  On  such  occasion,  says  the  soldier 
of  fortune,  "  all  those  that  pledge  the  Emperor  are  first  stripped 
naked  and  their  bodies  anointed  all  over  with  a  kind  of  white 
balsam.  When  they  were  anointed  all  over,  certain  servants  of 
the  Emperor,  having  prepared  gold  made  into  fine  powder,  blow 
it  through  hollow  canes  upon  their  naked  bodies,  until  they  be  all 
shining  from  the  foot  to  the  head ;  and  in  this  sort  they  sit 
drinking  by  twenties  and  hundreds,  and  continue  in  drunkenness 
sometimes  six  or  seven  days  together." 

There  are  still  people  who  regard  the  prospect  of  being  drunk 
for  a  week  as  the  consummation  of  happiness,  the  Nirvana  of  their 
ambition,  but  they  are  people  of  the  baser  sort.  These  gilded 
youths  and  men  of  Manoa  who  rolled  about  the  palace  for  a  week, 
giggling  and  hiccoughing,  and  leaving  greasy  dabs  of  gold  on  the 
marble  as  they  lurched  from  court  to  court,  were  generals  and 
governors,  privy  councillors  and  ministers  of  state.  It  is  a  quaint 
idea  of  an  earthly  paradise — the  nakedness  of  the  Garden  of  Eden, 
gold  dust  and  grease  as  at  once  a  concession  to  modesty  and  a 
token  of  magnificence,  the  unlimited  drink,  the  presence  of  the 
king.  The  only  reasonable  feature  in  the  picture  is  the  severe 
simplicity  of  the  court  dress. 

Raleigh  left  England  with  five  ships  in  February  1595  to 
discover  this  pleasant  country  of  Juan  Martinez.  The  year  before 
he  had  dispatched  a  respectable  pirate,  one  Captain  Whiddon, 
"  a  man  most  honest  and  valiant,"  to  Trinidad  to  collect  informa- 
tion. Raleigh,  on  his  arrival,  after  examining  the  shores  of  the 
green  islet  and  visiting  the  Pitch  Lake,  anchored  off  San  Jose  de 
Oruna.  He  determined  to  take  that  town  and  to  capture  Berreo, 
the  governor  of  the  island.  His  excuses  for  the  assault  were  the 
following  :  In  the  first  place  Berreo  had  treacherously  captured 
eight  of  Whiddon's  men  ;  secondly,  he  had  treated  the  natives 
with  vile  cruelty,  had  loaded  certain  princes  with  chains,  and 
then  tortured  them  by  dropping  boiling  fat  upon  their  bare 
shoulders.     The  third  reason,  however,  was  the  real  one.     Berreo 


76        THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP. 

had  already  led  an  expedition  into  Guiana,  and  would  no  doubt 

be  full  of  useful  knowledge. 

Sir  Walter  therefore  went  ashore  one  dark  night,  crept  up 
the  Caroni  river,  and  took  San  ]os6  at  the  break  of  day,  just 
as  the  humming-birds  were  busying  themselves  in  the  governor's 
garden.  He  found  five  melancholy  princes  chained  together 
in  a  row  and  nearly  dead  from  famine,  while  on  their  royal  backs 
were  the  remains  of  the  last  application  of  hot  fat.  He  set  fire 
to  the  little  town,  and  went  down  the  hill  happy  and  chuckling 
to  himself,  for  he  had  Berreo  with  him,  alive  and  communicative. 

Raleigh  left  his  ships  at  Trinidad  and  crossing  to  the  main- 
land in  small  boats  proceeded  to  ascend  the  mighty  Orinoco. 
There  was  never  a  more  romantic  river  voyage  ;  never  a  more 
rapturous  wild-goose  chase.  Raleigh  was  infinitely  gullible.  He 
believed  every  word  the  romance-loving  Spaniards  told  him, 
as  if  he  had  been  a  gaping  schoolboy.  He  trusted  Juan  Martinez 
as  a  modern  traveller  trusts  Baedeker.  He  gathered  inspiration 
and  assurance  from  any  dull-witted  Indian  who  nodded  "yes" 
to  the  unintelligible  questions  of  his  interpreter. 

Every  sign  was  a  happy  omen.  He  toiled  up  the  fetid, 
pestilential  river  radiant  with  delight.  His  men  died  of  starva- 
tion and  fatigue,  but  Manoa  was  ever  just  beyond  the  next  bend 
of  the  stream.  Ten  more  strokes  and  the  first  golden  water-gate 
would  be  in  view.  His  boats  were  rotting,  yet  he  could  hear 
every  night  the  bells  ringing  in  the  spires  of  the  gorgeous  city. 
Whatever  he  came  upon  was  delightful.  "  I  never  saw,"  he 
writes,  "  a  more  beautiful  country  .  .  .  every  stone  that  we 
stooped  to  take  up  promised  either  gold  or  silver."  The  birds 
that  flew  over  the  dismal  stream  were  the  most  lovely  he  had 
ever  known  :  "  birds  of  all  colours,  some  carnation,  orange  tawny,' 
purple,  green,  watchet,^  and  of  all  other  sorts  both  simple  and 
mixed."  He  met  with  no  kind  of  encouragement,  and  yet  the 
smile  of  delight  never  left  his  face.  Once  they  came  upon 
a  kindly  chief  who  entertained  them  in  his  village  ;  upon  which 
happy  occasion  "  some  of  our  captains  garoused  of  his  wine  till 

'  Orange  UwDy  was  Raleigh's  own  colour.  *  Pale  blue. 


EL    DORADO.  77 

they  were  reasonable  pleasant."  This  was  the  best  time  they 
had  experience  of. 

At  last  even  Raleigh  could  go  no  further.  His  men  were 
listless  with  the  heat,  parched  with  fever,  and  so  utterly  weary 
that  even  the  prospect  of  lying  arunk  for  a  week  in  a  tavern 
of  gold  failed  to  stir  their  jaded  muscles.  They  could  not  pull 
another  stroke  in  this  lukewarm  river.  They  could  scarcely  sit 
upright  on  the  scorching  thwarts,  and  would  have  given  the  whole 
land  of  El  Dorado  for  one  hour  of  a  keen  north-east  wind 
blowing  over  the  downs  of  Dorset. 

Raleigh  owned  to  no  failure.  When  he  reached  home  he 
spoke  of  Manoa  as  if  he  had  seen  it.  He  writes  that  the  country 
would  yield  to  the  Queen  "  so  many  hundred  thousand  pounds 
yearly  as  should  both  defend  all  enemies  abroad  and  defray  all 
expenses  at  home."  He  implores  his  "  Lady  of  Ladies  "  to  put 
forth  her  hand  and  grasp  this  land  of  untold  riches.  He  even 
ventured  to  assert,  with  the  precision  of  an  auctioneer,  that  one 
of  the  famous  statues  in  Manoa  could  not  be  worth  less  than 
100,000/.  When  he  turned  back  on  the  river  it  was  with  no  sense 
of  lack  of  success.  Writing  cheerily,  and  in  his  same  pretty 
manner,  he  merely  says,  "  It  is  time  to  leave  Guiana  to  the  sun 
and  steer  away  towards  the  north." 

Poor  self-befooled  Raleigh,  he  left  more  gold  in  this  miserable 
country  than  he  ever  brought  away  from  it,  for  he  gave  to  any 
loquacious  chief  who  would  listen  to  his  babblings  an  honest 
English  sovereign —  a  piece  of  "  the  new  money  of  twenty  shillings 
with  her  Majesty's  picture."  It  would  have  indeed  been  well 
for  the  gallant  dreamer  if  he  had  left  Guiana  for  ever  to  the  sun. 


78  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 


XIV. 

THE   HIGH   WOODS. 

So  prodigal  in  the  tropics  is  the  growth  of  all  things  green  that  if 
the  good  folk  of  Port  of  Spain  were  to  march  out  of  their  town 
on  a  certain  day  and  not  come  back  again  until  five  years  had 
passed  they  would  find  the  place  lost  in  jungle,  the  familiar 
streets  blocked  with  undergrowth,  the  tram-lines  faint  streaks  in 
the  moss,  and  the  church  hidden  beneath  creepers. 

A  drift  of  luxuriant  green,  some  fathoms  deep,  covers  the 
whole  island,  silting  up  the  valleys,  making  level  the  ravines,  and 
bridging  over  each  smaller  river  so  that  it  creeps  through  the 
shadows  like  a  snake.  This  wealth  of  green  pours  down  from  the 
hills  into  the  town,  "  a  waterfall  of  leaf  and  glowing  flower."  It 
penetrates  everywhere,  through  the  outskirts,  like  a  lava  stream* 
It  trickles  into  the  very  streets.  It  is  hard  to  keep  it  at  bay. 
Let  a  road  be  closed  and  in  a  while  it  becomes  a  meadow  of 
weeds.  Let  a  garden  be  deserted  and  it  at  once  relapses  into  the 
savagery  of  a  tangled  wood.  There  are  no  bare  places  in  the 
tropics.  Even  the  rock  that  stands  up  like  a  bleached  bone  will 
find  some  kindly  leaf  to  cover  it. 

The  country  around  Port  of  Spain  is  eminently  beautiful, 
a  wonder  of  valley  and  peak,  of  purple  shadows,  of  soft  gullies  full 
of  blue  haze,  of  splashes  of  brilliant  colour.  Looked  down  upon 
from  a  height  it  is  the  country  of  an  epic,  the  land  of  the 
primeval  romance,  majestic,  solemn,  unconfined.  Here  is  an 
unclimbable  crag  covered  with  trees  to  its  summit,  not  with  lean 
pines  or  starving  larches,  but  with  the  pampered  trees  of  a  summer 
wood.  On  its  height  should  be  one  of  those  precipice-walled, 
many-turreted  castles  that  Gustave  Dor6  loved  to  draw.  Here  is 
a  valley,  like  the  Maraval  valley,  where  the  road  roams  through 


THE    HIGH    WOODS.  79 

a  tunnel  of  bamboos,  where  the  path  is  strewn  with  flowers  as  if 
a  procession  of  gallants  had  just  passed  by,  where  the  stream  by 
the  wayside  is  so  domed  with  foliage  that  the  noise  of  its  water  on 
the  pebbles  seems  to  come  from  underground. 

There  is  many  a  mountain  pass  in  Trinidad.  Of  the  view 
from  the  summit  of  one  of  these  Kingsley  has  written  in  this  wise : 
"  We  were  aware,  between  the  tree-stems,  of  a  green  misty  gulf 
beneath  our  very  feet,  which  seemed  at  the  first  glance  boundless, 
but  which  gradually  resolved  itself  into  mile  after  mile  of  forest, 
rushing  down  into  the  sea.  The  hues  of  the  distant  woodlands, 
twenty  miles  away,  seen  through  a  veil  of  ultramarine,  mingled 
with  the  pale  greens  and  blues  of  the  water,  and  they  again  with 
the  pale  sky,  till  the  eye  could  hardly  discern  where  land  and  sea 
parted  from  each  other."  '  By  the  sea  is  often  a  windy  beach 
along  whose  sands  a  line  of  lanky  cocoanut  trees  will  stretch  away 
for  miles.  They  ever  wave  their  arms  in  the  breeze  as  if  signalling 
to  someone  at  sea.  In  a  stifling  bay,  where  the  water  is  still,  and 
where  the  very  shadows  are  stagnant,  is  a  mangrove  swamp.  The 
roots  of  the  tree  are  as  the  meshes  of  some  cunning  net,  its 
tentacles  grope  seawards  like  the  arms  of  an  octopus.  From  the 
mud  it  spreads  in  will  bubble  up  a  fetid  gas  with  a  sound  like  the 
gurgle  of  drowning  men,  while  the  sludge  it  covers  is  alive  with 
slimy  things. 

There  are  still  in  Trinidad  wide  tracks  of  uncultivated  land 
where  flourishes  "  the  forest  primeval."  This  is  the  country  as  it 
met  the  eyes  of  the  first  adventurers,  the  pathless  jungle  which  so 
fascinated  Charles  Kingsley  that  he  writes  reverently  of  his  first 
visit  to  the  High  Woods  (as  these  forests  are  called)  "  I  have  seen 
them  at  last  "  ! 

It  was  near  Sangre  Grande,  under  the  kindly  guidance  of 
Mr.  Lickfold,  that  I  made  my  acquaintance  with  the  High  Woods. 
The  world-old  jungle  is  almost  impenetrable.  Those  who  would 
traverse  its  perplexing  depths  must  follow  the  method  of  the  early 
explorer,  and  hack  a  way  through  with  a  cutlass.  So  compact  is 
the  undergrowth  that  no  trace  of  the  ground  is  to  be  seen.     For 

'  At  Last :  A  Christmas  in  the  West  Indies  :  London,  1871. 


8o  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

all  one  could  tell  the  mass  of  verdure  may,  like  a  sand-drift, 
cover  the  ruins  of  cities.  Out  of  the  tangle  of  green  rise  huge 
spectral  trunks,  struggling  to  reach  the  sky  to  breathe,  struggling 
to  rid  themselves  of  the  web  of  creepers,  vines  and  parasites 
which  cling  to  them  and  drag  them  down,  as  the  snakes  did 
Laocoon.  Ropes  forty  feet  long  dangle  from  the  topmost  boughs, 
and  it  only  needs  Jack-o'-the-Beanstalk  to  climb  them  and  tell  of 
the  wonders  to  be  seen  upon  the  sunny  side  of  the  great  canopy 
of  leaves  that  shuts  the  daylight  from  the  world. 

There  are  church-like  aisles  hung  with  festoons  of  lianas  as  if 
with  rags  of  votive  banners  which  had  fluttered  there  a  century. 
Aerial  bridges  of  creeper-stems  swing  up  aloft  from  bough  to 
bough  over  chasms  laced  and  wreathed  with  an  entanglement  of 
green.  There  are  violet-black  gaps  in  the  palisade  of  trees  which 
reveal  unimagined  depths.  In  many  a  dark  arbour  in  the  bu^h 
some  West  Indian  Merlin  may  have  lived,  while  the  golden  auriole 
that  darts  out  of  the  shadow  might  be  the  spirit  of  the  dead 
magician. 

In  this  drowsy  land  the  air  is  hot,  heavy  and  stifling, 
"  breeding,"  as  Raleigh  says,  "  great  faintness."  Were  it  not  for 
the  brilliant  butterflies  and  moths  that  glide  to  and  fro  one  would 
imagine  it  was  too  dense  with  damp  for  winged  things  to  fly  in. 
The  dim  green  light  is  as  that  of  moonlight.  The  sounds  in  the 
woods  are  strange,  for  the  leaves  are  strange  and  their  rustling  is 
unlike  that  heard  in  any  English  spinney.  The  cords  that  are 
dropped  from  the  skies,  like  the  strings  of  an  ^olian  harp,  must 
utter  still  more  unwonted  notes  whenever  a  wind  finds  its  way  into 
these  steamy  shades.  Through  the  dancing  haze,  through  the 
languorous  vapour  that  fills  the  forest  as  with  the  smoke  of 
incense,  through  the  fume  of  dead  leaves  there  comes  ever  a 
strange  hum  of  life,  the  drone  of  insects,  the  rustle  of  the  darting 
lizard,  the  flutter  of  hurrying  wings. 

The  vegetation  of  the  tropics  is  profligate  and  extravagant 
A  West  Indian  jungle  shows  to  what  excess  the  libertinage  of  leaf 
and  stem  may  reach.  Everything  in  this  spendthrift  forest  is 
immoderate   and   exaggerated.     The   undergrowth   is   to   a   man 


THE    HIGH    WOODS.  8i 

what  a  plot  of  weeds  is  to  a  hiding  mouse,  or  what  the  woods  of 
Brobdingnag  were  to  Gulliver.  Here  is  a  creeper  that  covers  half 
an  acre.  Here  is  a  plant  like  a  violet  in  its  form,  but  it  would 
shelter  a  child.  Here  is  a  geranium  leaf,  but  it  is  shining  and  stiff 
and  measures  two  feet  across.  This  bush  might  be  made  of  parsley 
were  it  not  so  magnified  that  it  rises  to  the  height  of  many  feet. 
This  thicket  suggests  a  clump  of  bracken,  yet  such  is  the  size  of 
every  fern-like  fan  that  it  would  hide  a  dozen  horsemen.  These 
woods  of  Munchausen,  these  gardens  of  the  megalomaniac  are 
very  wonderful,  but  they  are  wearisome  by  their  persistent  in- 
temperance and  parade. 

I  think  that  the  most  beautiful  tree  in  this  part  of  the  world 
is  the  Bois  Iinmortel.  It  is  found  in  the  cacao  plantations,  where 
it  shades  and  shelters  the  cacao  bushes.  Hence  its  name  "  Madre 
de  Cacao."  In  the  cool  weather  the  Immortel  becomes  bare  of 
leaves — a  rare  occurrence  in  the  tropics.  Its  stem  and  boughs 
being  grey  they  look,  as  they  stand  out  of  the  green  thicket, 
wintry  and  dead.  Suddenly,  so  it  seems,  the  whole  crown  of  the 
tree  becomes  covered  with  marvellous  blossoms,  with  delicate 
flowers  of  coral  red  or  ruddy  orange.  This  mass  of  palpitating 
colour  lifted  aloft  in  the  sun  against  the  blue  sky  is  a  marvel  to 
see.  The  name  is  not  to  be  wondered  at.  The  skeleton  tree  rises 
from  the  verdant  earth  like  a  figure  of  death,  and  when  it  seems 
utterly  withered,  a  blush  of  radiant  petals  covers  its  barrenness 
and  so  it  breaks  into  life  again. 

Before  leaving  the  High  Woods  I  am  reminded  that  a  lady  of 
Sangre  Grande  showed  me  much  of  that  beautiful  country  and, 
amongst  other  things,  a  new  cemetery  of  which  the  village  folk 
were  proud.  She  told  me  that  the  first  body  buried  in  this  ground 
was  that  of  a  coolie  baby  whose  parents  had  adopted  Christianity. 
Coffins  being  costly  the  dead  child  had  been  placed  in  a  deal  box 
in  which  tinned  milk  had  been  shipped  to  the  island  from  Europe. 
As  the  sorrowing  relatives  shuffled  round  the  grave,  the  lady 
noticed  that  there  was  an  inscription  upon  the  lid  of  the  would- 
be  coffin.  On  looking  closer  she  observed  that  it  read,  in  heavily 
stencilled  letters,  as  follows  :  "  Stow  away  from  boilers." 


I 


82  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP 


XV. 

THE    FIRST    WEST    INDIAN    TOURIST. 

The  first  British  tourist  to  the  West  Indies  was  undoubtedly 
Robert  Duddeley,  Earl  of  Warwick  and  Leicester,  Duke  of 
Northumberland,  Knight  of  the  Garter  and,  in  a  general  way, 
"  Leiftenante  of  all  her  Majestie's  fortes  and  forces  beyonde  the 
seas."  ^ 

He  went  like  other  tourists  primarily  to  enjoy  himself  and  to 
see  new  lands.  Incidentally  he  did  a  little  pirating  on  the  way, 
but  only  as  an  amateur.  He  indulged  in  piracy  in  a  proper 
tourist  spirit,  and  not  with  any  idea  of  making  money  by  the  pursuit 
He  no  doubt  felt  that  on  this  particular  trip  it  was  the  right  thing 
to  do,  just  as  the  winter  visitor  to  Norway  feels  compelled  to  take 
to  ski-running.  In  the  same  mood  the  tripper  in  Egypt  wears  a 
tarboosh  and  allows  himself  to  be  shaken  into  a  jelly  on  the  back 
of  a  Bank  Holiday  camel. 

It  may  be  said  at  once  that  Robert  Duddeley,  as  a  pirate,  had 
little  sport.  The  only  Spanish  vessel  he  fell  in  with  on  the  voyage 
out  hoisted  English  colours,  and  escaping  into  shallow  water 
jeered  at  the  tourist  ship  and  taunted  the  crew  with  mockery  and 
depraved  language.  "  The  which,"  writes  Captain  Wyatt,  who 
commanded  the  pikemen,  "  our  generall  toke  mightelie  offensive." 

The  pirate  duke  had  every  reason  to  be  annoyed  with  these 
coarse,  low  men,  for  his  grace  was  proud  and  very  dignified  and 
ceremonious.  For  example,  when  his  ship  approached  a  strange 
vessel  to  do  battle  Wyatt  says  that  they  always  "caused  the  collers'^ 
of  our  countrey  and  of  our  generall  to  be  advansed  in  the  topps, 

'  From  the  admirable  reprints  of  the  Hakluyt  Society.  ^  Colours. 


THE   FIRST   WEST    INDIAN   TOURIST,  83 

poope  and  shrowdes  of  our  shipp."  More  than  that  the 
"  trumpetts "  took  up  their  place  "  on  the  top  of  the  master's 
cabbin."  Anyone  looking  down  from  the  poop  would  have  seen 
"every  gunner  standinge  by  his  peece."  On  the  poop  would  be 
the  noble  duke  himself,  in  his  best  armour,  with  the  ribbon  of  the 
Garter  across  his  chest,  a  baton  in  his  mailed  hand  and  plumes  in 
his  helmet.  After  all  this  parade  it  is  no  wonder  that  his  grace 
considered  it  mightily  offensive  of  the  Spaniard  to  get  out  of 
harm's  way  and  then  grin  over  his  bulwarks  at  him  and  indulge  in 
contemptuous  laughter  and  obscenely  expressed  chaff. 

Robert  Duddeley,  like  the  present-day  tourist,  started  from 
Southampton  at  the  commencement  of  the  holiday  season — viz. 
in  November.  This  was  in  the  year  1594.  On  November  6, 
according  to  Captain  Wyatt,  "hee  caused  his  shippinge  to  disanker 
from  the  Rode  afore  Hampton."  The  "  shippinge  "  consisted  of 
the  Bear,  the  Beat's  Whelp  and  two  small  pinnaces  named  the 
Frisking  and  the  Earwig. 

On  the  return  journey,  by  the  bye,  they  did  not  make  their 
port  with  the  precision  of  a  mail  steamer,  for  they  "  fell  by  reason 
of  most  extreme  mistie  weather  in  with  a  fisher  towne  called 
St.  Jiues  in  Cornwall." 

The  ^^^r  reached  Trinidad  on  January  31,  1595,  and  dropped 
anchor  in  Cedros  Bay,  some  distance  south  of  the  Pitch  Lake. 
The  experiences  of  the  tourists  during  the  first  four  days  of  their 
sojourn  in  the  island  are  worthy  of  record. 

On  February  i,  a  Saturday,  they  sent  a  boat  ashore  to  confer 
with  the  natives.  The  conference  was  satisfactory,  for  "  the  dale 
followinge,  being  Sondaie,  in  the  morninge  came  the  salvages  with 
two  canowes  aborde  us,"  They  amiably  bartered  food  for  beads 
and  fish  hooks  and  no  doubt  for  hawk's  bells.  Now  it  so  happened 
that  one  "salvage"  could  speak  Spanish.  It  was  unfortunate,  for 
it  led  to  trouble.  The  mischief  began  when  the  accomplished 
native  told  the  duke  of  a  gold  mine  along  the  coast.  Although 
it  was  Sunday  the  general  must  needs  send  Captain  Jobson  and 
others  ashore  to  see  this  property.  After  trudging  eight  weary 
miles  in  the  sun  Jobson  came  upon  the  ore  and  brought  some  of  it 

Ga 


84        THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP. 

back  in  his  pocket.  The  mineral  was  bronze-yellow  in  colour,  and 
the  duke,  after  he  had  eagerly  handled  it,  pronounced  it  to  be  fine 
gold.     Their  fortunes  were  made. 

It  may  here  be  stated  that  the  nugget  the  happy  tourist 
gloated  over  and  locked  away  in  his  velvet-lined  cabinet  was 
a  specimen  of  marcasite,  a  form  of  iron  pyrites  about  as  valueless 
as  road  metal. 

After  a  sleepless  night,  devoted  to  the  contemplation  of  the 
high  calling  of  a  millionaire,  Robert  the  tourist  resolved  to  take 
possession  of  this  gold  mine  which  Providence  and  the  "  salvage  " 
had  placed  in  his  hand.  He  did  this,  as  he  did  all  things,  with 
the  utmost  ceremony.  On  Monday  morning  he  landed  in  full 
armour  with  all  his  soldiers.  As  he  placed  his  ducal  foot  upon 
the  beach  the  men  drawn  up  along  the  shore  fired  "  a  vallew  of 
small  shot,"  to  which  the  Bear  in  the  offing  respectfully  answered 
"  with  ten  peeces  of  the  great  ordenance."  The  troops  were 
then  paraded  and  inspected,  as  is  still  the  custom  when  royal 
personages  land  upon  strange  soil. 

The  march  to  the  mine  commenced.  It  was  a  solemn 
procession.  The  duke  in  person  led  the  way.  With  him  was,  no 
doubt,  that  "  salvage  "  who  had  the  gift  of  tongues,  and  who  was 
probably  secured  by  a  rope  round  his  neck.  Unfortunately,  the 
route  was  by  the  margin  of  the  sea,  through  very  soft  sand.  It 
was  a  march  to  be  remembered  ;  a  tramp  along  a  furnace-hot 
beach  which  gave  way  under  each  step,  with  the  noonday  sun  of 
the  tropics  overhead  and  not  a  scrap  of  shade  as  wide  as  a  man's 
hand  to  temper  the  glare.  One  can  see  the  staggering  figure  of 
the  leader,  clad  in  glistening  mail  too  warm  to  touch,  with  a 
helmet  on  his  head,  and  in  his  heart  a  pride  so  great  that  he 
dared  not  lift  the  casque  from  his  shoulders.  He  must  have 
dripped  like  a  leaky  iron  tank  as  he  stumbled  along,  and  if 
prickly  heat  seized  upon  him  while  he  dragged  one  heavy  foot 
after  the  other  out  of  the  sand  he  cannot  but  have  felt  that  the 
way  of  millionaires  is  hard.  The  journey  was  little  better  than 
a  penance,  although  they  trudged  along  cheered  by  "  tlie  noyse  of 
trumpetts  and  drome." 


THE   FIRST   WEST   INDIAN   TOURIST.  85 

At  length,  writes  Wyatt,  "  having  marched  VIII  longe  miles 
through  the  deepe  sandes  and  in  a  most  extreame  hott  daie,  our 
Generall,  unaccustomed,  God  he  knows,  to  walke  on  foote,  leading 
the  march,  wee  at  length  came  unto  the  place  wheare  this  ore  was, 
and  havinge  placed  our  courte  of  garde  in  a  convenient  place  and 
sett  forth  our  centronells,  all  the  rest  were  appointed  to  the 
gatheringe  of  ore." 

That  gathering  of  ore  must  have  been  a  sight  worth  seeing. 
They  may  in  after  years  have  thought  of  it  as  wool-gathering,  but, 
for  the  moment,  the  wool  was  the  Golden  Fleece.  Purple-faced 
men,  who  had  been  talking  of  flagons  of  beer  all  the  way,  forgot 
their  thirst,  forgot  even  to  mop  their  streaming  faces,  forgot 
to  shake  the  sand  out  of  their  shoes,  and  falling  down  upon  their 
knees  proceeded  to  stuff  their  pockets  with  this  paltry  stone.  To 
the  envy  of  the  "  centronells,"  who  stood  motionless  in  sight,  they 
would  hide  lumps  of  the  yellow  rock  in  their  doublets,  drop  pieces 
down  their  necks,  slip  fragments  up  their  sleeves,  until  they  must 
have  rattled  like  a  boy's  bag  of  marbles. 

Every  piece  was  an  item  in  a  fortune.  This  lump  would  buy 
for  one  pimply  soldier  the  village  alehouse  and  the  cider  orchard. 
This  handsome  lad,  who  had  jammed  a  particularly  fine  piece  of 
rock  into  his  breeches,  felt  assured  that  it  would  enable  him  to 
marry  Dolly  when  he  landed  at  Hampton,  where  he  and  she 
could  live  happily  ever  after.  One  fragment  of  stone  was  to 
make  an  old  mother  comfortable,  another  was  to  pay  for  a  boy's 
apprenticeship,  a  third  would  buy  a  comrade  out  of  prison,  while 
every  nugget  meant  some  comfort  and  ease  for  the  rest  of  each 
man's  journeying.  What  a  day  of  dreams !  What  a  building  of 
castles  in  the  air !  A  crowd  of  crawling,  scrambling  men  all 
grubbing  up  happiness  with  their  hands,  all  finding  in  the  dirt 
their  heart's  desire,  all  radiant  that  the  world  was  well  with  thenr 
at  last. 

Poor  perspiring,  finger-sore  simpletons,  they  would  have  been 
better  engaged  if  they  had  been  picking  up  lumps  of  coal.  Still, 
the  joy  kept  with  them  until  they  reached  their  homes.  Then 
came  a  drama,  grim  and  oft-repeated,  the  tragedy  of  the  gold- 


86        THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP. 

smith's  shop,  the  nugget  dragged  proudly  out  of  the  much-handled 
pouch,  the  smiling  sweetheart  on  her  lover's  arm,  with  visions  of 
a  happiness  beyond  imagining,  the  guffaw  of  the  goldsmith  who 
would  give  a  groat  for  a  cartload,  the  weeping  girl  at  the  closed 
gate  of  Paradise,  and  the  cursing  soldier  hurling  a  yellow  stone 
into  the  stream. 

In  the  meanwhile  things  were  not  quite  comfortable  at  the 
gold  mine.  The  tide  had  come  up  and  covered  the  track,  so  there 
was  nothing  to  do  but  wait  for  the  ebb.  "Our  general!,"  says 
Wyatt,  "  peceavinge  a  most  filthie  miste  to  fall,  caused  an  armefull 
of  boughes  to  be  cutt  and  laide  on  the  grownde,  wheraeon  he 
himself  lay  downe;  over  whome  Ancient'  Borrow  helde  his 
collers,*  and  Wyatt  made  his  stande  rownde  about  him."  Lord 
Duddeley  must  have  been  grateful  for  this  rest,  as  well  as  for  the 
opportunity  of  removing  his  armour  so  as  to  rid  himself  of  those 
insects  which  still  trouble  visitors  to  Trinidad.  It  must  have  been 
a  picture  to  impress  the  "salvage":  the  peer  recumbent  in  the 
silent  forest  with  his  stockinged  feet  projecting  from  under  his 
cloak,  with  the  family  banner  held  over  his  head  by  a  yawning 
ensign,  while  the  guard  stood  around,  their  figures  bulging  at  every 
point  with  blocks  of  iron  pyrites. 

The  distinguished  tourist  had  not  been  long  asleep  when  the 
"centronells  "  raised  an  alarm,  and  in  a  moment  all  was  confusion. 
The  valiant  general  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  "with  kx  shott" 
rushed  into  the  treacherous  woods  to  seek  the  cause  of  this  dis- 
quietude and  panic.  It  proved  to  be  due  to  a  firefly.  Wyatt  thus 
explains  the  position,  it  being  only  necessary  to  add  that  the  fire- 
arm in  those  days  was  discharged  by  a  glowing  match  or  fuse  : 
"  For  theare  is  a  certain  flie  which  in  the  night  time  appeareth 
like  unto  a  fire,  and  I  have  scene  at  the  least  two  or  three  score 
togeather  in  the  woods,  the  which  make  resemblance  as  if  they 
weare  soe  manie  light  matches,  the  which  I  perswade  myselfe  gave 
occasion  of  some  soden  feare  unto  the  centronells  which  gave  the 
alarum." 

Probably  there  was  no  more  sleep  for  anyone  after  this,  for 
'  Ensign.  «  Colours. 


THE    FIRST    WEST    INDIAN    TOURIST.  8; 

when  the  tide  went  down  the  party  marched  back  to  the  ship  in 
the  cool  of  the  dawn. 

Nothing  now  remained  but  to  take  formal  possession  of  the 
mine.  This  was  accomplished  on  the  very  Tuesday  on  which  the 
gold  seekers  returned  to  the  ship.  Robert  Duddeley  did  not 
undertake  this  duty  in  person.  He  had  had  enough  exercise  for 
the  moment.  Another  walk,  in  the  sun,  of  sixteen  miles  in  full 
armour  through  soft  sand  was  almost  more  than  any  gold  mine 
was  worth.  So  he  stayed  on  the  vessel,  and  no  doubt  had  his 
breakfast  in  bed.  He  did  not,  however,  spare  either  his  officers  or 
his  men,  as  Captain  Wyatt's  account  of  the  solemn  function  will 
show.  *'  This  morninge,  beinge  Twsedaie,  our  Generall  caused 
our  Queenes  armes  to  be  drawne  on  a  peece  of  lead  and  this 
inscription  written  underneath,  the  which  was  sett  upon  a  tree 
neare  adjoyinge  unto  the  place  wheare  this  myne  of  gold  ore  was 
discovered."  The  inscription  sets  forth  in  Latin  and  at  great 
length  that  "  Robertus  Duddeleius,  Anglus,  filius  illustrissimi 
comitis  Leicestrencis,"  etc.,  had  descended  upon  the  island  and 
had  taken  it  in  the  name  of  that  most  serene  princess  Queen 
Elizabeth. 

The  General  entrusted  the  carrying  out  of  the  ceremony  to  old 
Captain  Wyatt.  Furthermore,  he  handed  to  the  captain  his  own 
sword,  as  a  sign  that  that  officer  had  authority  to  act  in  his 
general's  behalf,  "  joyninge  with  him  in  commission  Mr.  Wright 
and  Mr.  Vincent."  These  three  gentlemen,  full  of  bustle  and 
importance,  landed  once  more  on  the  blazing  beach,  and  taking 
with  them  a  formidable  body  of  troops,  started  again  on  the 
purgatorial  journey  of  sixteen  miles. 

"  Marchinge  forth  in  good  order,"  writes  the  cheerful  Wyatt, 
"wee  came  unto  the  place  wheare  this  our  service  was  to  be 
accomplished,  the  which  wee  finished  after  this  sorte :  first 
wee  caused  the  trumpetts  to  sownde  solemlie  three  severall  times, 
our  companie  troopinge  rownde ;  in  the  midst  marched  Wyatt, 
bearinge  the  Queenes  armes  wrapped  in  a  white  silke  scarfe  edged 
with  a  deepe  silver  lace,  accompanied  with  Mr.  Wright  and  Mr. 
Vincent,  each  of  us  with  our  armes,  havinge  the  generalFs  collers 


88  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

displaid,  both  with  the  trumpetts  and  the  drome  before  us,  after 
the  chiefest  of  the  troopes,  then  the  whole  troope,  thus  marchinge 
up  unto  the  top  of  the  mounte  unto  a  tree  the  which  grew  away 
from  all  the  rest,  wheare  wee  made  a  stande.  And  after  a  generall 
silence  Wyatt  red  it  unto  the  troope,  first  as  it  was  written  in 
Latin,  then  in  English  ;  after  kissinge  it  hee  fixed  it  on  the  tree 
and  havinge  a  carpender  placed  alofte  with  hammer  and  nailes 
readie  to  make  it  faste,  fastned  it  unto  the  tree.  After  wee  pro- 
nounced thease  wordes  that  *  The  Honorable  Robert  Duddeley 
sonn  and  heyre  unto  the  Right  Honorable  Robert  Earle  of 
Leicester,  etc.,  etc.,  doth  sweare,  God  favoringe  his  intent,  to  make 
good  against  anie  knight  in  the  whole  world.' "  No  knight 
having  responded  to  this  challenge  the  proceedings  concluded 
by  more  sounding  of  the  trumpets  and  the  drum  and  a  general 
yelling  of  "  God  save  our  Queene  Elizabeth." 

There  is  no  doubt  that  it  was  an  imposing  function,  made 
especially  brilliant  by  the  sunlight  of  the  tropics.  The  men,  I 
suppose,  were  in  some  such  costume  as  is  preserved  in  the  present 
uniform  of  the  Yeomen  of  the  Guard.  Captain  Wyatt  and  his 
colleagues,  Mr.  Wright  and  Mr.  Vincent,  would  be  in  shining 
armour,  while  it  is  sure  that  "  the  collers,"  as  they  waved  in  the 
breeze,  made  a  bravery  against  the  azure  sky.  There  would  be 
many  flies  buzzing  in  the  air,  the  land  crabs  would  come  to  the 
mouths  of  their  holes  and  stand  there  in  amazement,  while  the 
pelicans  in  the  bay,  unnerved  by  the  sound  of  the  trumpets  and 
drum,  would  cease  from  their  fishing.  It  may  be  surmised  that 
the  "  salvages "  who  peeped  out  of  the  woods  were  much 
interested  in  the  purple-faced  "  carpender "  who,  hanging  over 
a  bough  head  downwards  with  his  mouth  full  of  nails,  was  doing 
such  strange  things  with  the  "  peece  of  lead."  I  expect  that 
some  agile  "  salvage "  took  down  that  piece  of  lead  as  soon  as 
Duddeley's  ships  were  out  of  sight  and  sold  it  to  the  first  pirate 
who  was  looking  about  for  something  to  melt  into  bullets. 


XVL 

THE   PITCH   LAKE. 

There  are  some  things  the  traveller  finds  it  hard  to  avoid. 
Among  them  is  the  Pitch  Lake  at  Trinidad.  This  spot  has  been 
described  as  one  of  the  "  wonders  of  the  world  "  ;  it  was  visited  by 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  who  caulked  his  ships  from  its  strange  depths, 
while  it  is  supposed  to  realise  some  features  of  those  infernal 
regions  of  which  so  much  has  been  written  in  proportion  to  what 
is  known.  It  happens,  therefore,  that  any  traveller  who,  having 
landed  at  Trinidad,  fails  to  see  the  Pitch  Lake,  must  be  prepared  to 
be  for  ever  assured  that  he  has  missed  the  one  thing  worth  seeing 
in  the  New  World. 

Froude  is  among  the  few  who  have  boldly  defied  the  temptation 
to  look  upon  this  spot.  He  has  declared  in  writing,  and  with 
evident  pride,  that  he  "  resisted  all  exhortations  to  visit  it." 

The  lake  is  situated  near  La  Brea,  a  poor  village  on  the  west 
coast  of  Trinidad,  some  thirty-six  miles  from  Port  of  Spain.  The 
journey  thither  is,  under  ordinary  conditions,  tedious,  being 
effected  partly  by  train,  partly  by  steamer  and  partly  on  foot. 
My  visit  to  the  lake  was  rendered  both  agreeable  and  interesting 
through  the  kindness  of  Mr.  Bartlett,  the  manager  of  the  company 
which  is  at  present  in  possession  of  the  wondrous  pool. 

Starting  in  a  launch  from  Port  of  Spain  we  landed  at  Brighton, 
where  is  a  pier  from  which  the  asphalt  is  shipped.  The  land 
thereabouts  is  low  and  commonplace,  the  beach  a  narrow  line  of 
sand,  the  bay  alive  with  pelicans.  There  are  curious  things  on  the 
shore,  in  the  form  of  boulders  of  pitch  which  have  oozed  up 
through  the  sand  from  the  mysterious  abyss,  as  if  they  were  the 
"  casts "  of  some  awful  worm.     They  have  been  polished  by  the 


90  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP, 

sea  into  shining  globules  of  jet,  some  of  which  are  fringed  with 
green  weed — the  strangest  rocks  to  be  seen  upon  any  coast. 

One  associates  asphalt  with  city  streets  and  tramways,  so  it 
is  strange  to  see  lumps  of  it  among  the  common  objects  of  the 
seashore,  and  providing  a  resting-place  for  pelicans.  Everything 
about  this  quaint  seaport  has  some  community  with  pitch.  The 
piles  of  the  pier  are  caked  with  pitch,  the  pavemients  are  of  pitch, 
as  is  the  solitary  highway,  the  black  child  sitting  on  a  pitch 
boulder  is  nursing  a  doll  made  of  pitch. 

The  lake  is  about  a  mile  from  the  shore  on  slightly  raised 
ground,  surrounded  by  scanty  jungle  and  a  number  of  Moriche 
palms.  The  first  impression  of  the  visitor  when  he  looks  down 
upon  the  famous  pool  must  be  a  little  influenced  by  the  accounts 
he  may  have  read  of  it.  So  many  authors  insist  upon  comparing 
the  place  with  the  Hades  of  the  ancients.  Even  Kingsley  speaks 
of  it  as  "  an  inferno,"  as  a  "  Stygian  pool,"  as  "  the  fountain  of 
Styx,"  and  "  thinks  it  well  for  the  human  mind  that  the  pitch  lake 
was  still  unknown  when  Dante  wrote  his  hideous  poem."  There 
are  writers  who  tell  vaguely  of  smoke  and  flames,  as  well  as  of 
sulphurous  smells.  It  is  little  to  be  doubted  that  the  name  of  the 
place  is  in  some  measure  answerable  for  these  impressions.  It 
recalls  the  lake  "  which  burneth  with  fire  and  brimstone  "  on  the 
one  hand,  while  boiling  pitch  has  always  held  a  prominent  place 
in  the  diabolical  menage.  If  the  locality  had  been  called  "the 
asphalt  fiat "  it  is  probable  that  none  of  these  fancies  would  have 
fluttered  into  the  minds  of  men.  There  is  nothing  Dantesque 
about  asphalt  ;  indeed,  the  spot,  if  less  unfortunately  named, 
would  no  more  have  suggested  the  inferno  than  would  a  lake  of 
Portland  cement. 

The  visitor  to  La  Brea  will  see  neither  flames  nor  smoke,  nor 
anything  boiling,  nor  will  he  be  helped  in  other  ways  to  realise  the 
awfulness  of  the  stream  by  Charon's  ferry.  The  place  is  by  no 
means  terrible  nor  awe-inspiring.  It  is  as  bare  of  the  poetic 
afflatus  as  is  a  coal-merchant's  yard.  The  poet  of  Florence  might 
have  gazed  upon  it  unmoved,  although  Kingsley  believes  that  it 
would  have  suggested  to  him  "  the  torments  of  lost  beings  sinking 


THE   PITCH    LAKE.  91 

slowly  in  the  black  Bolge  beneath  the  baking  rays  of  the  tropic 
sun." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  people  can  only  sink  in  the  lake  with 
difficulty  and  with  infinite  patience.  A  man  who  attempted 
suicide  by  this  process  would  die  of  starvation  and  boredom 
before  he  had  sunk  much  above  his  knees,  and  to  get  even  so  far 
he  would  have  to  be  pertinacious. 

When  I  saw  the  lake  there  was  but  a  solitary  man  upon  it, 
near  about  its  centre.  He  was  a  coolie  squatting  on  the  pitch  on 
his  hams,  washing  clothes  in  one  of  the  many  little  puddles  on  the 
lake's  surface. 

If  a  Londoner  would  realise  the  Pitch  Lake,  he  must  imagine 
the  pond  in  St.  James's  Park  emptied  of  water,  its  bottom  filled 
with  asphalt,  pools  left  in  places,  and  some  tropical  vegetation 
disposed  about  the  margin  of  the  depression.  Such  a  landscape 
would  only  inspire  in  the  susceptible  conceptions  of  the  scenery 
of  Hell. 

The  Pitch  Lake,  when  I  first  caught  sight  of  it,  had  exactly  the 
appearance  of  the  ultimate  creek  of  an  estuary  at  low  tide.  I  saw 
a  wide  flat  of  a  hundred  acres,  wherein  were  runnels  of  water 
which  may  have  been  left  by  the  ebb,  large  stretches  of  what 
appeared  to  be  mud  dried  by  the  sun,  and  a  few  small  islands 
covered  with  brush.  The  mud  was  pitch,  the  water  was  rainwater, 
the  islands  were  genuine. 

When  the  brink  of  the  lake  was  reached  there  was  no 
suggestion  of  the  bank  of  that  river  where  shuddering  souls  must 
wait  for  a  crossing.  It  looked  more  like  the  edge  of  a  pond  near 
a  great  city  which  had  been  frozen  over,  but  the  ice  of  which  had 
been  dulled  by  the  dirt  from  many  boots.  I  stepped  from  the 
grass  on  to  this  surface  with  just  as  much  caution  as  one  would 
employ  in  placing  a  foot  on  suspicious  ice.  It  might  have  been 
slippery  but  it  was  not.  In  a  few  moments,  after  jumping  across 
some  waterways,  I  was  in  the  middle  of  the  lake  walking  on  the 
asphalt  of  commerce  valued  at  so  much  per  ton. 

The  sensation  that  walking  upon  this  substance  gave  was 
no  other  than  that  of  treading  upon  the  flank  of  some  immense 


92  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

beast,  some  Titanic  mammoth  lying  prostrate  in  a  swamp.  The 
surface  was  black,  it  was  dry  and  minutely  wrinkled  like  an 
elephant's  skin,  it  was  blood-warm,  it  was  soft  and  yielded  to 
the  tread  precisely  as  one  would  suppose  that  an  acre  of  solid 
flesh  would  yield.  The  general  impression  was  heightened  by 
certain  surface  creases  where  the  hide  seemed  to  be  turned 
in  as  it  is  in  the  folds  behind  an  elephant's  ears.  These  skin 
furrows  were  filled  with  water  as  if  the  collapsed  animal  were 
perspiring. 

The  heat  of  the  air  was  great,  the  light  was  almost  blinding, 
while  the  shimmer  upon  the  baked  surface,  added  to  the  swaying 
of  one's  feet  in  soft  places,  gave  rise  to  the  idea  that  the  mighty 
beast  was  still  breathing,  and  that  its  many-acred  flank  actually 
moved. 

I  am  told  that  the  full  extent  of  the  pitch-bearing  area  is 
no  acres,  and  that  its  exact  depth  is  unknown.  The  asphalt  is 
not  bailed  out  as  the  readers  of  some  guide-books  might  suppose, 
nor  is  it  dug  up.  It  is  hooked  out  in  junks  with  a  pick,  each 
piece  separating  from  the  mass  with  a  dry  bright  fracture  like  that 
of  a  blue  flint.  The  lump  so  delved  from  the  "  Stygian  pool  "  is 
lifted  up  with  the  hands  and  thrown  ignominiously  into  a  truck. 
These  trucks  run  on  rails  and  sleepers  across  the  lake.  The  rails 
and  sleepers  of  the  "  permanent  way  "  sink  slowly  into  the  solid 
pitch,  so  that  once  in  every  three  days  they  have  both  to  be  raised 
up  and  readjusted  on  the  surface. 

On  each  side  of  the  trackway  there  will  be  a  trough  or  trench 
produced  by  the  labours  of  the  men  with  the  picks.  This  trough 
rapidly  fills  again  level  and  solid,  is  again  dug  out  only  to  close  in 
once  more.  It  thus  comes  about  that  although  the  asphalt  is 
being  removed  at  the  rate  of  100,000  tons  a  year,  the  lines  of  rail 
need  never  to  be  altered  in  direction. 

The  lake,  like  the  Burning  Bush,  is  not  consumed  ;  the  furrow 
remains  ever  unfinished  ;  the  task  is  as  hopeless  as  the  ploughing 
of  sand,  and  is  one  that  might  well  have  wearied  even  Sisyphus, 
the  roller  of  the  ever-slipping  stone.  Day  by  day,  month  by 
month,  year  by  year,  the  lake  presents  the  same  strange  picture  of 


THE   PITCH    LAKE.  93 

men  toiling  at  a  trench  which  as  they  pass  along  only  closes  up 
behind  them. 

As  they  leave  their  work  at  sundown  they  look  back  at  a 
gully  cut  across  the  black  morass,  but  when  they  come  to  the 
brim  of  the  lake  at  dawn  they  find  that  all  is  level  again,  and  that 
the  ditch,  the  labour  of  a  day,  has  vanished. 

It  is  said  that  many  women,  when  inquiring  as  to  the  origin  of 
a  product,  will  be  satisfied  with  the  answer  that  it  is  "  made  by 
machinery  " ;  so  there  are  many  people  who  are  ready  to  believe 
that  any  terrestrial  phenomenon  is  to  be  explained  by  "  volcanic 
action."  To  "  volcanic  action  "  the  formation  of  the  Pitch  Lake 
has  been  ascribed,  but,  unhappily  for  this  conclusion,  there  is  no 
trace  of  volcanic  energy  in  the  Island  of  Trinidad. 

The  origin  of  the  asphalt  is  identical  with  that  of  mineral  oil. 
Indeed,  pitch  would  appear  to  be  no  other  than  oil  which,  owing 
to  a  peculiar  geological  disposition,  has  become  inspissated  in 
a  convenient  basin  or  evaporating  dish. 

There  are  subtle  movements  in  this  unrippled  pool  ;  the 
islands  wander  aimlessly  from  shore  to  shore  like  undecided 
ghosts ;  the  trunk  of  a  tree  will  rise  out  of  the  phlegmatic  lake 
and  after  pointing  for  a  while  skyjvards,  as  if  it  were  a  warning 
finger,  will  withdraw  into  the  black  depths  again.  These 
movements,  and  the  curiously  inturned  creases  on  the  lake's 
surface  are  explained  by  convection  currents  and  not  by 
subterranean  influences.  To  the  same  commonplace  cause  is 
ascribed  the  filling  of  that  heartless  trench  which  no  spade  can 
empty. 


94  THE   CRADLE   OF  THE   DEEP 


XVI  f. 

THE  BOCAS. 

Who  has  not  heard  of  the  famous  Bocas  of  Trinidad,  of  those 
wild  sea-passes  which  lead  into  the  Gulf  of  Paria?  One  gate- 
way guards  the  approach  by  the  north,  another  that  by  the  south. 
It  was  by  the  southern  Boca,  the  Serpent's  Mouth,  that  Columbus 
came,  but  it  is  not  notably  picturesque.  The  northern  passage, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  Boca  del  Drago  or  Dragon's  Mouth, 
is  magnificent  to  behold.  At  this  end  of  the  bay  Trinidad  comes 
nearest  to  the  mainland,  while  the  strait  is  further  narrowed  by 
three  islands  which  stretch  in  a  line  across  the  dividing  sea.  The 
belt  of  water  is  thus  broken  into  four  channels ;  that  to  the  west 
is  the  Boca  Grande,  then  come  the  Boca  de  Navios  (the  Way 
of  Ships),  the  Boca  de  Huevos  or  Egg  Passage,  and  finally  the 
Boca  de  Monos  or  Monkey's  Channel. 

Of  these  the  Boca  de  Monos  is  the  most  imposing.  It  is 
a  narrow,  echoing  channel,  some  three  cables  wide,  hemmed 
in  between  forbidding  precipices,  which  rise  on  one  side  to  the 
height  of  a  thousand  feet.  Down  this  ocean  defile  a  great  tide 
rushes,  circling  in  mad  eddies.  The  mighty  flood  as  it  lifts  itself 
over  a  hidden  reef  shows  a  huge  curved  back  above  the  stream 
as  if  it  were  some  glistening  sea  monster.  A  grey  rock  with  a 
dead  tree  on  it  stands  alone  in  the  fairway,  where  the  rollers  fall 
upon  it  with  the  force  of  a  battering-ram.  The  Boca  de  Monos 
is  best  seen  from  the  open  sea  about  the  time  of  sun-down.  The 
cliffs,  sheer  and  ominous,  are  then  in  shade.  They  stand  upon 
either  side  of  the  defile,  flanking  it  like  pylons  at  the  entrance  to 
a  temple  avenue.     It  is  a  solemn  and  majestic  portal,  and  the 


THE   BOCAS.  95 

first  trembling  ship  that  was  whirled  down  the  pass  might  well 
have  wondered  if  beyond  was  the  Sea  of  Death. 

It  was  through  this  Boca  that  Columbus  went  out  when  he 
sailed  away  from  Trinidad.  The  pass  is  a  place  for  baffling  winds, 
but  his  ungainly,  unmanageable  ships  were  hurried  through,  like 
driftwood,  rolling  to  this  side  and  that,  the  sails  flapping,  the 
yards  swinging  until  the  braces  snapped,  the  helmsmen  powerless, 
and  each  man  crossing  himself  and  muttering  prayers.  Many 
and  many  a  buccaneer  has  crept  through  this  sea  alley,  hoping 
to  find  a  fat  merchantman  dozing  in  the  sun  in  the  bay.  Many 
a  tempest-chased  craft  has  been  swept  through  this  channel 
as  helpless  as  a  child's  boat  in  a  mill  sluice,  to  be  dashed  to  pieces 
on  the  rocks,  or  to  find  peace  in  the  land-locked  gulf  beyond. 
Through  the  southern  Boca  came  Raleigh  in  the  small  boats 
which  were  to  carry  him  to  El  Dorado ;  he  in  an  old  galley  with 
benches  to  row  upon,  the  others  in  two  wherries,  a  barge  and 
a  ship's  boat — one  hundred  men  all  told. 

Of  the  many  remarkable  craft  that  have  passed  through  the 
Dragon's  Mouth  the  most  remarkable  appeared  off  the  entrance 
to  the  channel  on  June  7,  1805.  It  was  no  small  company  that 
hove  in  sight  that  day,  for  it  was  made  up  of  thirteen  battleships — 
viz.  ten  sail  of  the  line  and  three  frigates.  They  approached  the 
Boca  with  every  stitch  of  sail  set.  It  was  evident  that  they  were 
in  hot  haste.  At  every  masthead  flew  the  British  flag.  Most 
curious,  however,  was  the  fact  that  every  ship  was  cleared  for 
action,  every  gunner  was  standing  by  his  piece,  the  magazines 
were  open  and  piles  of  arms  for  boarding  were  heaped  upon  the 
decks.  This  was  the  more  strange  because  the  Gulf  of  Paria,  save 
for  a  few  fishing  boats,  a  trader  or  two  and  many  pelicans,  was 
empty  and  the  picture  of  confiding  peace. 

The  first  ship  to  pass  the  Boca  had  on  her  stern  the  name 
Victory  and  on  her  quarter-deck  a  British  admiral,  a  spare 
man  of  middle  age  who  had  but  one  arm  and  one  eye — Horatio 
Nelson.  Never  did  any  adventurer  show  such  an  eagerness  as  he 
did  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  shipping  in  the  Gulf  of  Paria ;  never 
was  a  man  so  disappointed  when  he  found  the  great  haven  empty. 


96        THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP. 

The  tale  of  that  surprising  voyage,  told  already  many  times,  may 
be  told  again,  for  it  is  never  to  be  forgotten. 

In  the  spring  of  1805  Nelson  had  been  long  watching  the 
French  fleet  around  the  southern  coasts  of  Europe.  On  March 
31  the  entire  French  squadron  under  Admiral  Villeneuve  slipped 
out  of  Toulon  harbour  and  vanished.  Nelson,  although  much 
hampered  by  bad  weather,  searched  every  bay  on  the  French  and 
Spanish  seaboard,  and  scoured  the  Mediterranean  from  one  end  to 
the  other. 

Early  in  May  the  conviction  seized  him  that  the  French  had 
gone  to  the  West  Indies.  On  May  11  he  set  off  on  the  chase. 
Villeneuve  had  forty  days'  start  of  him.  He  reached  Madeira  in 
four  bustling  days — no  news.  With  every  sail  drawing  he 
pressed  on  to  Barbados,  made  Carlisle  Bay  on  June  4,  only  to 
hear  that  the  French  were  at  Trinidad. 

Away  he  flew  to  the  south.  The  scent  was  hot.  He  would 
catch  them  in  the  Gulf  of  Paria.  No  better  place  could  be  wished 
for  :  the  battle  that  was  ever  in  his  mind  would  be  the  battle  of 
Port  of  Spain.  It  was  in  this  spirit  that,  three  days  later,  he  came 
foaming  through  the  Bocas,  cleared  for  action.  He  found  the 
anchorage  deserted.  A  despatch  boat  sent  into  the  harbour  of 
the  town  came  back  with  the  news  that  the  fleet  was  at  Grenada. 

Round  swung  the  English  ships  in  a  twinkling  and  before  the 
town  folk  had  ceased  to  marvel  they  were  through  the  Bocas  again, 
heading  north  and  leaving  the  quiet  gulf  once  more  to  the  fisher- 
men and  the  pelicans.  Grenada  was  sighted  on  the  9th  and  every 
eye  was  strained  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  crowd  of  masts.  The 
roads  were  empty,  but  the  news  bellowed  from  the  quay  was  good 
— the  French  were  off  to  Antigua. 

A  fierce  English  cheer  rang  through  the  little  harbour  and 
Nelson,  like  a  hound  who  had  met  a  check,  was  away  again  and 
heading  for  Antigua  ;  for  Antigua  was  near  to  Nevis  where  he  first 
met  his  wife  and  where,  indeed,  he  was  married.  Breathless  and 
savage  the  ships  luffed  up  off  the  island  on  June  12,  but  Villeneuve 
was  not  there.  He  had  gone  to  Europe,  so  the  people  at  the  port 
told  the  pursuers. 


THE   BOCAS  97 

Never  for  a  moment  had  the  chase  flagged,  yet  never  so  far 
had  the  sea-dogs  a  sight  of  their  quarry.  Hot-foot  they  had  come 
from  Europe  to  the  West  Indies  ;  now  they  were  on  their  way 
back  to  Europe  again ;  eight  thousand  good  sea  miles,  out  and 
home,  and  a  heavy  pressure  of  canvas  all  the  way. 

Nelson  left  Antigua  on  June  13,  On  June  21  he  writes  in  his 
diary  :  "  Saw  three  planks  which,  I  think,  came  from  the  French 
fleet."  On  July  19  the  Victory  and  her  companions  dropped 
anchor  in  the  harbour  of  Gibraltar.  On  July  20  there  is  this 
entry  in  the  admiral's  book  :  "  I  went  on  shore  for  the  first  time 
since  June  16,  1803,  and  from  having  my  foot  out  of  the  Victory 
two  years  wanting  two  days." 

The  chase  that  commenced  on  May  ir  ended  on  October  2r 
off"  Cape  Trafalgar,  where  the  great  battle,  that  had  been  for  half 
a  year  in  Nelson's  thoughts,  was  won.  So  the  chase  ended  well. 
The  honour  of  England  was  upheld  and  the  weary  sea-rover  was 
at  last  "  home  from  the  sea." 

The  Victory  is  still  afloat  in  Portsmouth  Harbour,  the  very 
same  Victory  that  came  roaring  through  the  Boca  on  that  day  in 
June.  There  in  the  simple  cabin  are  the  windows  from  which 
Nelson  took  his  last  look  of  England,  lying  dim  in  the  wake  of  his 
ship.  There  is  the  deck  he  paced  for  so  many  harassing  days. 
Over  these  very  bulwarks  he  leaned,  looking  out  for  the  hunted 
fleet.  There,  last  of  all,  is  the  dingy  corner  in  the  cockpit  where, 
propped  up  against  the  good  old  vessel's  beams,  the  most  gallant 
of  British  admirals  drifted  out  into  the  Unruffled  Haven. 


98        THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP. 


xvni. 

THE   FIVE   ISLANDS. 

One  of  the  most  pleasant  ways  of  seeing  the  northern  Bocas  is  by 
means  of  the  steamer  which  plies  between  Port  of  Spain  and 
Chacachacare,  the  outermost  of  the  three  islands  which  form  the 
channels. 

On  the  passage  the  vessel  calls  at  the  Five  Islands.  These 
dots  of  land  form  one  of  the  most  picturesque  groups  to  be  met 
with  in  this  world  of  islands.  They  are  all  very  small,  all  very 
green,  all  have  grey,  tide-worn  cliffs,  while  on  each  is  a  fascinating 
villa  with  a  red,  or  striped,  roof  and  white  walls.  One  little  isle  is 
so  minute  that  it  is  entirely  taken  up  by  the  house  that  crowns 
it — a  Venice  within  the  circuit  of  a  child's  garden. 

The  settlement  is  given  up  wholly  to  enjoyment.  It  is  a  sea 
sanctuary  for  the  hot  days  of  summer.  It  is  the  idler's  archipelago. 
The  islands  are  those  of  the  nursery  tale,  and  of  the  Willow 
Pattern  Plate.  Send  a  boy  there  with  a  boat,  a  fishing-rod  and 
a  bathing-dress,  and  he  would  believe  that  he  had  found  the 
Hesperides  of  his  classical  studies.  He  will  find  tiny  coves  and 
dark  caves  where  he  can  "  go  a-pyrating,"  miniature  beaches,  six 
paces  wide,  to  land  his  treasure,  a  jungle  the  size  of  his  school- 
room, and  a  cape  that  he  can  sit  astride  of  His  sister  will  be 
enamoured  of  the  arbour  by  the  sea,  of  the  stone  stairs  leading  up 
from  the  landing-place,  of  the  doll's-house  terrace,  and  of  the  blue 
pool  so  close  below  her  window  that  she  can  almost  touch  the 
water. 

Beyond  the  Five  Islands  and  near  to  the  Boca  de  Monos  is 
the  island  of  Caspar  Grande.  On  the  point  of  it  are  the  remains 
of  the  Spanish  fort  which  the  British  had   set  their  hearts   upon 


THE   FIVE    ISLANDS.  99 

taking  when  Harvey  and  Abercromby  anchored  off  the  island  on 
February  16,  1797  (see  page  65).  The  fort  is  at  the  opening  into 
Chaguaramas  Bay,  a  bay  of  entrancing  loveliness.  Here,  on  the 
day  named,  four  Spanish  line-of-battle  ships  were  lying,  together 
with  a  gun  brig. 

The  English  were  busy  all  night  making  preparations  for  the 
taking  of  the  fort  and  the  capture  of  the  ships.  At  two  in  the 
morning  the  tree-covered  cliffs  around  the  bay  were  illuminated 
by  a  wild  column  of  flames.  The  Spaniards  had  set  fire  to  their 
vessels,  and  in  the  glare  the  water  was  seen  to  be  dotted  with 
boats  all  rowing  for  the  shore.  Out  of  the  five  men-of-war  the 
English  saved  but  one,  the  San  Damasco.  The  rest  were  burned 
to  the  water's  edge.  When  the  daylight  came  the  fort  on  Caspar 
Grande  was  found  to  be  deserted. 

To  any  who  may  be  interested  in  pelicans  the  Five  Islands 
and  the  bay  that  saw  the  burning  of  the  ships  may  be  commended. 
These  pelicans  are  curiously  ungainly  birds  who,  although  puffed 
up  with  self-satisfied  wisdom,  have  an  aspect  of  extreme  and 
shabby  old  age.  Apparently  overlooked  in  the  progress  of 
evolution  they  have  become  so  obsolete  as  to  be  ridiculous,  for 
they  ought  long  ago  to  have  retired  into  the  fossil  state.  To  be 
consistent  with  their  environment  they  should  be  hovering  over 
a  lagoon  full  of  saurians  or  should  be  watching  from  a  swamp  the 
dull  movements  of  palaeolithic  man. 

They  fish  and  with  surprising  success,  but  in  the  most  uncouth 
and  primitive  manner.  They  flap  to  and  fro  over  the  sea  with  an 
assumption  of  boredom,  then  suddenly  drop  into  the  water  and 
come  up  with  a  struggling  fish.  There  is  no  suggestion  of  diving, 
no  pretence  to  the  graceful  art  of  the  gannet.  They  simply 
tumble  into  the  sea,  with  their  wings  open,  like  an  untidy  parcel. 
That  they  reach  the  water  head  first  seems  to  be  purely  an 
accident. 

The  well-known  legend  of  the  pelican  and  her  indiscreet  method 
of  feeding  her  young  in  times  of  stress  was  in  ancient  days  often 
employed  to  point  a  moral  lesson  to  the  young.  The  modern 
schoolboy  or  girl  remains  unmoved  by  the  recital  of  the  pelican's 


lOO  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

virtues.  John  Sparke,  in  his  account  of  Hawkins'  second  voyage, 
thus  describes  the  devotion  of  the  bird  and  adds  some  criticism 
upon  the  appearance  of  the  misguided  fowl  which  is  in  accord 
with  the  average  mariner's  estimate  of  female  qualities.  "  I 
noted,"  he  says,  "  the  pelican,  which  is  feigned  to  be  the  lovingest 
bird  that  is,  which,  rather  than  that  her  young  should  want,  will 
spare  her  heart's  blood  out  of  her  belly ;  but  for  all  this  lovingness 
she  is  very  deformed  to  behold." 


XIX. 

A  GLANCE  AT  THE   MAP. 

From  Trinidad,  twice  in  the  year,  a  special  steamer  starts  for  a 
cruise  among  the  West  Indian  islands.  Before  embarking  upon 
such  a  voyage  it  is  well  to  take  a  glance  at  the  map,  in  order  to 
appreciate  the  remarkable  disposition  of  land  and  sea  in  this  part 
of  the  globe. 

A  crowd  of  islands,  arranged  in  the  form  of  a  sickle,  extends 
from  the  point  of  Florida  to  the  north-east  of  Venezuela.  They 
are  of  every  size,  ranging  from  an  island  larger  than  Ireland  to  a 
mere  rock  an  acre  in  extent.  They  form  a  series  of  stepping- 
stones  between  North  and  South  America,  the  summits  of  a 
submarine  causeway  joining  the  two  continents,  and  the  founda- 
tions of  a  breakwater  which,  if  complete,  would  make  an  inland 
sea  of  the  American  Mediterranean. 

This  immense  stretch  of  water,  formed  by  the  Gulf  of  Mexico 
and  the  Caribbean  Sea,  is,  even  now,  nearly  land-locked.  To 
cross  it  at  its  greatest  length  would  compel  a  journey  further 
than  that  from  Liverpool  to  New  York,  while  the  voyager  who 
followed  its  sea  borders  would  skirt  the  coasts  of  Florida,  Texas 
and  Mexico,  the  length  of  Central  America,  the  northern  shores  of 
the  southern  continent  and  the  whole  sweep  of  islands  from 
Trinidad  to  the  Bahamas.  At  his  journey's  end  he  would  have 
travelled  12,000  miles. 

On  the  west  this  Mediterranean  ocean  is  closed  by  solid  land 
— closed  until  the  Panama  Canal  is  completed — but  on  the  east 
there  are  many  gaps  in  the  sea  wall,  as  well  as  four  wide  ways 
that  lead  out  into  the  open  Atlantic — viz.  by  the  Anegada  channel, 
by  the  Mona   and    Windward    Passages,  and    by  the    Straits  of 


102  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE    DEEP. 

Yucatan.  Through  these  waterways,  through  every  chink  in  the 
colossal  masonry,  through  every  runnel  between  the  Titanic  stones 
pours  the  Gulf  Stream  on  its  way  to  the  north.  Between  Jupiter 
Inlet  on  the  coast  of  Florida  and  Memory  Rock  in  the  Bahamas 
the  stream  is  at  its  narrowest,  but  even  here  "  it  represents  a 
moving  mass  equal  to  about  three  hundred  thousand  Mississippi 
rivers."  ^ 

Those  who  are  learned  in  the  tale  of  the  days  when  the  earth 
was  young,  say  that  a  tract  of  mountainous  land  did  once  stretch 
all  the  way  from  Florida  to  Venezuela,  and  that  the  islands 
became  islands  partly  by  a  sinking  of  the  land  and  partly  through 
the  upheaving  of  volcanoes.  They  say  also  that  there  was  a  time 
when  a  man  could  walk  from  Jamaica  to  the  mainland  and  find 
himself  at  Cape  Gracias  a  Dios,  for  even  now  there  are  shoals 
along  that  way,  such  as  "  Pedro  Bank,"  "  Seranilla  Bank  "  and 
"  Thunder  Knoll,"  as  well  as  rocks  and  cays  upon  which  the  sea 
breaks  in  heavy  weather.  These  rocks  which  mount  out  of  the 
sea,  as  they  once  lifted  themselves  up  into  the  clouds,  are  the 
needle  points  of  everlasting  hills,  so  that  a  little  cay  with  only  a 
poor  tuft  of  samphire  on  it  might  be  the  pinnacle  of  a  submerged 
Matterhorn. 

Many  of  these  shallows,  by  the  way,  have  names  that  provoke 
great  curiosity.  Who,  for  instance,  was  the  lady  made  immortal 
by  the  "  Rosalind  Bank "  ?  Was  she  a  sea-rover's  wife  who, 
although  she  may  lie  in  a  forgotten  churchyard  by  the  English 
Channel,  will  yet  live  so  long  as  there  is  a  chart  of  the  Caribbean 
Sea  ?  Who,  too,  was  "  Old  Isaacs  "  after  whom  an  unpleasant 
shoal  near  the  Grand  Cayman  was  named  ?  Was  he  the  shuffling 
old  man  who  waited  on  the  captain  and  who  was  the  butt  of  the 
ship,  or  was  he  a  troublesome  money-lender  at  some  such  easy- 
going spot  as  Port  Royal  ? 

The  Grand  Cayman,  it  may  here  be  said,  is  a  small,  low-lying, 
tree-covered  island  belonging  to  Great  Britain.  It  does  a  trade  in 
turtles  and  cocoanuts,  rears  cattle,  and  boasts  of  a  prison  and 
other   evidences  of  civilisation.     It  is  a  colony   perched  on    the 

'  Cuba  and  Porto  Rico,  by  Robert  T.  Hill,  page  lo  :  New  York,  1903. 


A   GLANCE   AT   THE   MAP.  103 

pinnacle  of  an  isolated  submarine  mountain  whose  northern  slope 
is  10,662  feet  high,  while  on  the  south  the  depth  from  the  streets 
of  its  little  town  to  the  solid  earth  is  20,568  feet,  or  nearly  four 
miles.  If  the  sea  were  to  drain  away,  as  did  the  snow  from 
around  Baron  Munchausen's  church  steeple,  then  would  George 
Town,  the  capital  of  the  Grand  Cayman,  appear  on  the  very  apex 
of  a  mountain  which  (viewed  from  its  southern  valley)  would  be 
nearly  a  mile  higher  than  Mont  Blanc. 

There  are  deep  seas  in  this  part  of  the  world.  In  crossing  a 
pool  to  the  north  of  Puerto  Rico,  for  instance,  a  ship  would  have 
27,366  feet  of  water  beneath  her,  so  that  if  a  coin  were  dropped 
overboard  it  would  have  to  travel  more  than  five  miles  before  it 
reached  the  bottom.' 

Of  the  individual  islands  it  is  only  necessary  to  say  that  the 
Greater  Antilles  (Cuba,  Jamaica,  San  Domingo,  Puerto  Rico  and 
the  Virgin  Archipelago)  rest  on  a  common  submarine  bed  and 
are  fragments  of  a  continent  through  which  runs,  from  west  to 
east,  a  mountain  chain. 

These  are  the  Leeward  Islands  properly  so  called,  the  "  Islas 
soto  viento  "  of  the  Spanish  because  the  north-east  trade  wind 
blows  so  constantly  from  the  eastward  throughout  the  year  and 
because  they  lie,  in  relation  to  the  other  groups,  to  the  west. 

The  Windward  Islands  stand  away  towards  the  rising  sun  and 
are  known  most  usually  as  the  Lesser  Antilles  or  Caribbee  Islands.- 
Finally  there  is  a  group  of  islands  called  the  Coast  Islands. 
They  were  included  by  the  Spanish  in  the  "  Islas  soto  viento,"  and 
are  to  be  regarded  merely  as  detached  portions  of  the  coast  of 
South  America.     They  extend  from  Tobago  to  Oruba.^ 

The  islands  which  are  most  closely  concerned  with  the  present 

'  The  height  of  Mt.  Everest  is,  for  comparison,  29,002  feet. 

^  Unfortunately  the  Caribbee  Islands  are  divided,  for  purely  administrative  purposes, 
into  two  groups,  Windward  and  Leeward,  which  terms  have  no  reference  to  the  direction 
of  the  prevailing  wind. 

'  The  chief  of  the  Coast  Islands  are  Tobago,  Trinidad,  Margarita,  Tortuga,  and 
Curajoa.     Among  them,  too,  is 

"  the  pleasant  Isle  of  Aves  beside  the  Spanish  Main," 
sung  of  by  Kingsley  in  his  Lay  of  the  Last  Buccaneer. 


104  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

voyage  are  the  Caribbee  Islands.  They  form  a  regular  crescent 
from  Sombrero,  or  the  Spanish  Hat,  in  the  north,  to  Grenada  in 
the  south.  Along  a  part  of  the  crescent  they  range  themselves 
into  two  lines — an  outer  and  an  inner  chain — one  facing  the 
Atlantic,  the  other  the  Caribbean  Sea.  The  outer  row  of  islands  ' 
are  built  up  of  white  limestone  or  coral  rock  and  are  all  com- 
paratively low-lying,  no  point  that  they  can  boast  of  reaching 
1400  feet.  With  the  exception  of  Antigua  none  of  these  islands 
show  evidence  of  volcanic  action. 

The  inner  or  main  line  of  islands^  are  the  most  interesting  and 
picturesque  in  the  archipelago.  They  are  all  of  volcanic  origin, 
are  all  crater  heaps.  Even  the  little  Grenadines  represent  "  the 
scattered  fragments  of  a  great  volcano  disrupted  during  some 
tremendous  outburst  in  late  Tertiary  times."  ^  They  are  precipitous, 
rising  almost  vertically  out  of  the  sea,  and  mount  to  great  heights. 
The  highest  point,  that  of  some  5000  feet,  is  attained  by  Morne 
Diablotin  in  Dominica.  Some  are  mere  crater  cones,  as  are  the 
islands  of  Saba,  St.  Eustatius  and  Nevis.  Others  present  stately 
peaks  and  dim  ravines,  towering  mornes  and  winding  valleys. 

In  these  islands,  so  weird  and  so  fantastic,  the  land  has  been 
rent  and  torn  by  awful  forces,  has  been  shaken  by  convulsions  which 
must  have  sent  a  shudder  through  the  great  world,  has  been  kneaded 
and  moulded  by  terrific  hands.  The  soil  is  dark  for  it  is  made  up 
of  ashes,  of  poured  out  lava,  of  piled  up  cinders  and  rocks.  The 
rains  of  the  tropics  have  gouged  out  river  beds  and  gullies,  have 
made  in  one  place  a  rich  plain  and  in  another  a  stagnant  swamp. 
There  are  here  no  smooth,  whale-back  downs  covered  with  gorse, 
no  be-flowered  water  meadows,  no  white  cliffs.  In  their  place  are 
mountain  peaks  hammered  out  upon  the  world's  anvil  into  the 
form  of  prongs  and  pikes,  together  with  ragged  chines  where  the 
cup  of  the  crater  would  seem  to  have  cracked  with  fervent  heat. 

'  These  are  Sombrero,  Anguilla,  St.  Martin,  St.  Bartholomew,  Barbuda,  Antigua, 
Desirade  and  Marie  Galante. 

-  These  are  Saba,  St.  Eustatius,  St.  Kitts,  Nevis,  Montserrat,  Guadaloupe,  Dominica, 
Martinique,  St.  Lucia,  St.  Vincent,  the  Grenadines  and  Grenada. 

'  Keane,  Central  and  South  America,  vol.  ii.  page  279:  London,  1901. 


A   GLANCE    AT   THE   MAP.  105 

The  very  soil  which  is  so  fertile  has  been  hurled  up  from  the  great 
furnace  in  the  vaults  of  the  globe. 

All  these  islands  are  covered  with  luxuriant  vegetation  from 
the  wall  of  green  at  the  water's  edge  to  their  mist-enticing 
summits.  Their  "woods  are  perpetually  green  as  the  plumage 
of  a  green  parrot."  ^  Their  seas  are  ever  a  pansy-blue.  "  Their 
days  have  such  an  azure  expansion,  so  enormous  a  luminosity  that 
it  does  not  seem  to  be  our  sky  above,  but  the  heaven  of  some 
larger  world  ...  lit  by  the  light  of  a  white  sun."  "^ 

In  the  days  when  the  islands  were  fashioned  this  corner  of  the 
world  must  have  been  the  scene  of  an  appalling  spectacle.  A 
curved  line  of  volcanoes  rising  out  of  the  sea,  belching  fire  and 
smoke  and  cascades  of  ashes  into  the  lowering  skies.  Each  island 
a  mouth  coming  up  to  breathe  from  the  inner  fire,  a  vent  of  the 
vast  furnace  thrust  up  through  the  deep. 

For  long  after  the  blaze  had  died  away  each  round  of  land 
would  be  a  mere  black  cinder  cone.  Then  would  come,  borne  by 
the  birds  and  the  winds,  the  germs  of  vegetation  and  the  blush  of 
green.  Ferns  and  bushes  would  cover  the  harsh  scars.  Woods 
would  climb  to  the  very  edge  of  the  smoking  crater.  Fluttering 
wings  would  fill  the  solitudes  with  life. 

One  night,  among  the  trees  around  some  quiet  beach,  a  light 
would  be  seen  and  the  red  reflection  of  it  would  fall  upon  the 
water  in  the  lonely  bay.  Then  it  would  be  known  that  man  had 
come. 

'  Lafcadio  Hearn,  Life  and  Letters,  page  424. 
'  Ibid,  pages  412  and  416. 


io6  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 


XX. 

GRENADA. 

Grenada  is  the  first  island  reached  from  Trinidad.  The  steamer 
finds  its  way  into  a  small  almost  land-locked  harbour  which  is  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  in  the  West  Indies.  It  is  said  to  be  the 
crater  of  an  ancient  volcano  the  seaward  wall  of  which  has  been 
blown  away,  so  that  the  water  has  poured  in  and  filled  the  basin. 
It  is  through  the  breach  that  the  ship  steams  to  her  moorings. 
Anyhow  it  is  a  homely  haven,  cosy  and  well  sheltered  from  the 
sea.  A  curving  bank  of  green  hills  covered  with  trees  and  gardens 
makes  an  amphitheatre,  the  arena  of  which  is  such  a  pool  of  blue 
water  as  can  only  be  seen  in  these  latitudes. 

On  one  side  of  the  pool  is  the  town  of  St.  George's.  The 
houses  which  compose  it  have  white  or  grey  walls  and  rust-red 
roofs.  They  clamber  up  the  slope  among  the  palms  and  balance 
themselves  on  the  summit  of  the  ridge,  where,  too,  is  a  church  with 
a  square  tower  standing  up  against  the  sky.  Beyond  the  town,  on 
a  spit  of  high  land  making  for  the  sea  is  an  old  stolid  grey  fort. 
It  was  built  by  the  French  just  two  hundred  years  ago.  Although 
long  deserted  it  has  still  an  aspect  of  great  solemnity  and  im- 
portance, still  the  look  of  the  grim  watch-dog.  There  are  now 
paths  around  its  ponderous  walls,  and  it  is  evident  that  children 
come  here  to  play.  They  even  put  stones  into  the  cannons' 
mouths  as  if  they  were  teasing  a  giant  of  the  soundness  of  whose 
sleep  they  were  well  assured. 

The  town  creeps  down  to  the  water's  edge,  to  a  foreign-looking 
quay  with  such  warehouses  and  buildings  on  it  as  are  seen  along 
the  wharf  side  of  a  French  seaport.  This  is  no  matter  for  wonder 
since  the  place  has  been  French  for  the  greater  part  of  its  life. 


GRENADA.  107 

With  the  waterside  houses  are  mixed  up,  in  some  strange  way, 
the  masts  and  rigging  of  white-hulled  schooners  and  of  trading 
sloops.  From  a  further  acquaintance  with  St.  George's  it  appears 
that  the  town  sits  astride  of  the  ridge  as  a  rider  sits  on  a  saddle, 
and  that  the  real  capital  is  on  that  side  of  the  slope  which  is  away 
from  the  harbour.  The  road  from  the  quay  to  the  market-place  is 
therefore  over  a  bank  so  steep  that  some  years  ago  the  governor 
of  the  time  drove  a  tunnel  through  the  base  of  the  ridge  to  the 
great  comfort  of  the  inhabitants  and  of  their  horses  and  mules. 

The  town  is  picturesque  and  French.  It  possesses  many  old 
and  dignified  houses  with  ample  roofs,  great  dormer  windows  and 
liberal  sun-shutters.  The  central  square,  or  market-place,  might 
belong  to  any  modest  French  town  were  it  not  for  the  black  folk, 
the  blaze  of  colour  and  light,  the  strange  trees  and  the  still 
stranger  wares  exposed  for  sale. 

The  country  inland  is  singularly  fascinating.  Its  surface  is 
that  of  the  crumpled  handkerchief  of  which  Columbus  spoke  to 
his  Queen,  an  extravagant  jumble  of  verdant  hills  and  valleys. 
It  is  wilder  than  Trinidad  if,  possibly,  less  luxuriant.  Some  call 
Grenada  the  Spice  Island  because  of  its  nutmegs  and  other  spices. 
It  may  as  well  be  named  the  Island  of  Ferns  by  reason  of  the 
damp  banks  of  moss  and  fern  which  line  its  tortuous  roads. 

A  good  idea  of  the  island,  of  its  peaks  and  glens,  and  of  some 
fragment  of  its  coast  line,  can  be  gained  by  a  journey  to  the 
Grand  Etang,  a  large  pool  on  the  summit  of  a  hill  some  1740  feet 
above  the  sea  level.  The  lake  is  distant  from  St.  George's  seven 
miles,  and  out  of  these  steamy  miles  are  six  which  are  persistently 
uphill  and  as  tedious  as  a  road  in  Purgatory.  The  lake  lies 
sunken  in  a  deep  hollow  among  the  woods,  which  hollow  is  no 
other  than  the  basin  of  an  ancient  crater.  It  may  be  Sleepy 
Hollow  from  its  quietness.  The  crater  is  now  a  crater  of  leaves, 
for  its  steep  sides,  which  were  once  a  slope  of  cinders,  are  lined  by 
rushes  and  palms  and  a  closely  standing  company  of  sedate  trees. 
The  water  is  two  and  a  half  miles  round  and  is  impressive  mainly 
by  reason  of  the  great  tankard  it  fills  and  of  the  utter  solitude  in 
which   it   sleeps.     The   negro,  with    an   exercise   of  imagination 


io8  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

which  he  rarely  displays,  calls  the  pool  "  The  Home  of  the  Mother 
of  the  Rains." 

There  is  on  the  northern  coast  a  height  named  Le  Mome  des 
Sauteurs,  It  is  said  that  the  French,  when  they  came  to  Grenada, 
ill-used  and  robbed  the  Caribs  whom  they  found  on  this  island  of 
spices.  Through  many  a  sordid  year  they  hunted  them  down 
until,  in  the  end,  the  few  who  remained  were  hounded  to  the  top 
of  this  hill.  There  the  harried,  starving  band  of  islanders  made 
a  stand.  The  French  closed  in  upon  them.  The  cruel  circle 
narrowed  until  the  way  back  even  to  the  burnt  cabins  was  cut  off. 
Nearer  and  nearer  the  bushes  rustled  as  they  were  bent  aside  by 
the  shoulders  of  advancing  men.  Here  was  a  hand  pushing  a 
branch  out  of  the  way  ;  here  the  gleam  of  a  cutlass.  Murder  was 
creeping  upon  them  like  a  creeping  fire.  Before  them  was  the 
kindly  sea,  blue,  tranquil  and  limitless.  The  time  of  farewell  had 
come,  so  from  the  top  of  the  precipice — as  from  the  jutting  brink 
of  the  world — they  leapt  into  the  air  and  in  such  wise  the  last  of 
the  race  found  peace. 


XXT. 

THE   FAIR   HELEN   OF   THE   WEST   INDIES. 

No  island  in  these  waters  will  be  approached  with  greater  interest 
and  expectancy  than  the  island  of  St.  Lucia.  This  is  not  on 
account  of  its  winsome  beauty,  although  there  are  many  who  hold 
it  to  be  the  loveliest  spot  in  this  gorgeous  crescent.  It  is  not  by 
reason  of  its  size,  for  it  covers  an  area  less  than  that  of  the  county 
of  Middlesex.  It  has  no  natural  features  to  make  it  remarkable, 
unless  they  be  certain  sulphur  springs  and  the  towering  rocks 
known  as  the  Pitons.  Yet  for  centuries  little  St.  Lucia  was  the 
most  important  island  in  the  West  Indies.  As  such  it  looms 
majestically  in  the  history  of  these  troubled  seas.  To  the  many 
who  strove  to  find  a  footing  in  the  archipelago,  St.  Lucia  was  ever 
the  key  to  the  attainment.  In  every  fresh  scheme  of  conquest  the 
little  island  was  the  goal  to  be  reached,  the  guerdon  of  the  con- 
queror.    Hold  St.  Lucia,  and  the  rest  may  perish ! 

There  can  hardly  be  a  spot  that,  for  its  size,  has  played  a  more 
stirring  part  in  the  history  of  arms  or  in  the  chronicles  of  the 
British  navy  and  army.  There  is  no  dot  of  land  that  has  been  so 
desperately  fought  over,  so  savagely  wrangled  for,  as  this  too  fair 
island.  St.  Lucia  is  the  Helen  of  the  West  Indies,  and  has  been 
the  cause  of  more  blood-shedding  than  was  ever  provoked  by 
Helen  of  Troy.  Seven  times  was  it  held  by  the  English,  and 
seven  times  by  the  French.  For  no  less  than  one  hundred  and 
fifty  years  it  was  the  arena  of  the  most  bitter  and  deadly  strife. 
Whenever  war  broke  out  between  England  and  France,  the  call 
that  at  once  rang  out  in  the  west  was  ever  the  same:  "To  St. 
Lucia  !  To  St.  Lucia  !  " 


no       THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP. 

The  panic-ridden  town  of  Castries  has  seen  more  of  the 
storming  of  heights,  of  the  rushing  of  trenches  and  of  the  battering 
of  forts,  than  any  town  across  the  seas.  It  has  witnessed  gladia- 
torial combats  that  would  have  thrilled  the  Colosseum  at  Rome. 
Here  at  St.  Lucia  is  that  spit  of  land,  La  Vigie,  the  look-out, 
where  the  watchman,  whether  French  or  English,  never  slumbered 
nor  slept.  Here  are  Gros  Islet  and  Pigeon  Island,  made  memor- 
able by  Rodney  as  the  scenes  of  his  dashing  sea-story. 

Here,  too,  is  that  ever  famous  hill,  the  Morne  Fortun6,  which 
for  a  century  or  more  was  the  height  around  which  every  battle 
raged.  Whoever  held  the  Morne  Fortun^  the  Lucky  Hill,  held  the 
island.  It  would  be  hard  to  tell  how  many  times  it  was  stormed, 
how  often  the  English  took  it,  and  how  often  the  French. 
Assuredly  can  it  be  said  that  within  no  like  ring  of  ground  do  the 
grass  and  the  brambles  cover  a  greater  company  of  British  dead. 
It  hides  the  French  dead  also.  Every  patriotic  Frenchman  is  proud 
of  the  Morne,  for  the  soldiers  of  that  gallant  country  made  the  hill 
as  renowned  for  deeds  of  valour  as  did  the  men  they  fought  with. 
How  many  memories,  cherished  in  the  hearts  of  mothers,  wives 
and  sweethearts,  must  have  clung  about  this  "  green  hill  far 
away  "  !  Even  yet  there  must  be,  hidden  away  in  old  bureaus, 
letters  with  the  faded  heading,  "  Morne  Fortund"  Some  of  these 
would  narrate,  with  all  the  glee  of  a  lad,  how  the  boats  landed, 
how  the  slopes  were  rushed,  and  how,  to  the  cheering  of  his 
company,  the  famous  Morne  was  taken.  Lucky  Hill !  Other  papers 
in  more  formal  writing  would  tell  how  the  lad  had  sickened  and 
grown  silent,  how  he  had  longed  for  little  more  than  news  from 
home  and  an  end  to  his  miseries,  and  how,  at  last,  his  company 
had  carried  him  away  and  buried  him  on  the  side  of  the  Lucky 
Hill. 

As  the  steamer  is  nearing  the  harbour  it  may  be  well  to  scan, 
in  the  briefest  summary,  the  remarkable  chronicles  of  this  island. 

In  1605  some  English  colonists  landed  out  of  the  Olive 
Blossome,  which  had  recently  been  advancing  the  empire  in  simple 
fashion  at  Barbados  (page  7).  In  less  than  two  months  these 
enterprising  folk  were  massacred  by  the  Caribs. 


THE   FAIR   HELEN   OF   THE    WEST    INDIES,    in 

In  1635  the  king  of  France  generously  granted  to  Messieurs 
Latine  and  Du  Plessis  "■all  the  unoccupied  lands  in  America." 
They  modestly  selected  Martinique,  leaving  St.  Lucia  for  the  time 
to  the  unappeasable  natives. 

In  1639  the  English  again  attempted  to  establish  a  colony  on 
the  comely  island,  but  the  adventurers  were  promptly  massacred 
or  scattered  by  the  Caribs. 

In  1642  the  king  of  France  ceded  St.  Lucia  and  other  islands 
to  the  French  West  Indian  Company.  The  company  being 
composed  of  needy  speculators  effected  little  ;  although  in  1650 
they  succeeded  in  selling  St.  Lucia  and  Grenada  to  Messieurs 
Houel  and  Du  Parquet  for  1660/.,  obtaining  in  this  way  some 
desirable  ready  money.  Du  Parquet  in  the  following  year  erected 
a  fort  and  in  spite  of  angry  opposition  from  the  natives  founded 
an  uneasy  settlement  of  forty  colonists. 

In  1660  the  French  and  English  conspired  together  to  wheedle 
the  island  from  the  now  confiding  Caribs.  This  noble  work  accom- 
plished, they  fell  out  between  themselves  and  began  that  struggle 
for  the  possession  of  the  island  which  lasted  for  one  hundred  and 
fifty  years. 

In  1664  a  party  of  English  from  Barbados  landed  at  Anse  du 
Choc  and  wrested  the  island  from  the  French.  In  1667  by  the 
treaty  of  Breda  it  was  restored  to  France  again. 

In  1722  George  I.,  apparently  out  of  bravado,  granted  St.  Lucia 
to  John,  Duke  of  Montagu.  It  was  an  unkind  gift.  That  nobleman 
tried  to  possess  himself  of  his  property  but  failed  very  lamentably. 

In  1728  both  the  British  and  the  French  held  such  strong 
positions  on  the  place  that,  in  order  to  save  further  bloodshed, 
they  agreed  to  regard  St.  Lucia  as  neutral.  By  the  treaty  of 
Aix-la-Chapelle  it  was  formally  made  neutral,  but  in  spite  of 
agreements  and  treaties  the  fighting  never  ceased. 

In  1756,  on  an  outbreak  of  war  with  France,  St.  Lucia  was 
captured  by  the  English.  In  1763,  by  the  treaty  of  Paris,  it  was 
restored  to  France.  The  French  now  put  the  island  in  order  and 
moved  the  chief  fort  from  La  Vigie  to  the  hill  which  was  destined 
to  become  so  famous  as  the  Morne  Fortune. 


112  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

In  177S,  England  being  again  at  war  with  France,  the  two 
fleets  made  for  St.  Lucia  with  all  press  of  sail.  The  British  arrived 
first  The  Mome  Fortun6  was  stormed  and  St.  Lucia  was  once 
more  in  the  hands  of  the  English. 

In  1 78 1  the  great  French  fleet  under  De  Grasse  bore  do\\'n 
upon  this  unhappy  settlement  with  no  less  than  "  twenty-five  sail 
of  the  line."  They  landed  at  Gros  Islet  and  made  a  desperate 
attempt  to  seize  the  island,  but  the  enterprise  failed.  In  17S3,  by 
the  treat\*  of  Versailles,  St  Lucia  was  handed  back  once  more 
to  the  French. 

In  1794  the  English,  under  General  Grey,  landing  at  various 
spots,  took  the  Mome  Fortune  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet  The 
British  flag  was  planted  on  the  summit  by  the  Duke  of  Kent, 
the  father  of  Queen  Victoria.  Late  in  the  same  year  Go>Tand 
made  a  sudden  onslaught  and  seized  St  Lucia  for  the  French, 
gaining  all  but  two  forts.  In  the  foUoxWng  year  the  English  were 
ignominiously  driven  out  of  the  island  by  Victor  Hugues,  the 
fi-iend  of  Robespierre.  In  their  flight  they  left  their  women 
and  children  behind.  These  unhappy  people  were,  however,  sent 
to  Martinique  by  the  French  under  a  flag  of  truce. 

In  1796  a  large  British  force  under  Sir  Ralph  Abercromby 
and  Sir  John  Moore  stormed  the  Mome  Fortune  and,  after  much 
desperate  fighting,  captured  it  In  1802,  by  the  treaty  of  Amiens, 
St  Lucia  was  again  given  back  to  France. 

It  will  be  noticed  that,  throughout  these  many  changes, 
the  English  had  the  better  of  the  fighting  and  the  French  of  the 
diplomacy. 

Finally  in  1803  Commodore  Hood  came  in  hot  haste  to 
St  Lucia  and  anchored  in  Anse  du  Choc  Bay.  The  island  was 
held  at  the  time  by  General  Nogues.  La  Vigie  and  Castries 
were  easily  taken  by  the  British,  whereupon  the  French  general 
retired  to  the  Mome  Fortune  and  refused  to  surrender.  The 
Mome  was  stormed  at  4  A.M.  on  June  22  and  in  less  than  an  hour 
the  works  were  carried  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet  with  small  loss 
to  the  attacking  force.  With  the  storming- party  was  the  gallant 
Sir  Thomas  Picton,  the  hero  of  Badajoz. 


CASTRIES,  ST.  LUCIA 


English  Miles 


Foureur  I.  q 


THE   FAIR   HELEN   OF   THE   WEST    INDIES.    113 

In  1 8 14  the  fair  and  fickle  St.  Lucia  was  finally  ceded  to  Great 
Britain. 

St.  Lucia  as  approached  fi-om  the  sea  is  as  dainty  and  beautiful 
an  island  as  the  heart  could  wish.  Softly  wooded  to  its  highest 
peaks,  there  is  nothing  to  suggest  that  it  has  been  the  firebrand 
of  the  West  Indies,  the  island  of  strife,  whose  glades  have  been 
reddened  with  blood  and  whose  slopes  are  riddled  with  the  graves 
of  valiant  men.  At  the  end  of  a  verdant  fiord,  which  would  tempt 
any  lazy  holiday-maker,  is  Castries.  This  town  receives  its  name 
from  Marshal  de  Castries,  who  in  1785  was  the  French  Minister 
of  the  Colonies.  To  the  right  of  the  entrance  into  the  harbour  of 
Castries  is  Cul  de  Sac  Bay  where  the  British  fleet  hid,  in  the 
famous  attack  of  1778,  to  the  undoing  of  the  French  (page  115). 

Castries  itself  is  quite  at  the  water's  edge,  a  squat,  shy  place, 
crouching  at  the  feet  of  the  circle  of  great  hills  which  shuts  in  the 
far  end  of  the  inlet.  The  hill  ahead  is  the  Morne  Duchazeau.  It 
has  a  saddle-shaped  summit  with  two  faint  peaks,  one  representing 
the  pommel  and  the  other  the  cantle  of  a  rough-rider's  saddle.  It 
was  to  the  top  of  this  height  that  Abercromby  dragged  his  guns — 
with  what  labour  heaven  knows — when  he  made  his  attempt  on 
the  Morne  Fortune  in  1796.  The  peak  to  the  left  is  Morne 
Chabot,  taken  by  Moore  at  the  time  of  the  same  desperate 
assault.  The  hill  to  the  right  is  the  most  beautiful  of  the  three,  as 
well  as  the  nearest  to  the  town.  It  is  very  green,  for  it  is  covered 
with  trees  to  the  sky  line,  with  plantain  and  cocoanut,  with 
mango  and  bread-fruit. 

This  is  the  never-to-be-forgotten  Morne  Fortune. 


114       THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEK 


xxn. 

CUL   DE   SAC   BAY. 

Castries  harbour  with  its  many  capes  and  bays  is  protected  on 
the  north  side  by  a  spit  of  bare  land  which  ends  seawards  in 
a  hillock,  shaped  like  the  bowl  of  an  inverted  spoon.  This  is  La 
Vigie,  the  look-out.  Across  this  promontory  is  the  bay  called 
Anse  du  Choc,  where  eager  armed  men  in  crowding  boats  made 
so  often  a  landing.  Cul  de  Sac  Bay,  to  the  south,  is  a  sheltered 
and  pleasant  inlet  at  the  foot  of  the  southern  slopes  of  the  Morne 
Fortune.  It  is  a  deep-water  bay  where  the  lead-line  sinks  to  from 
ten  to  twenty  fathoms. 

The  haven  was  made  memorable  during  the  attack  on  the 
island  in  1778.  War  had  broken  out  between  England  and 
France,  and  with  one  accord  the  French  and  British  fleets  made 
all  haste  for  St.  Lucia. 

The  English  under  General  Grant  had  the  good  fortune  to 
reach  the  island  first,  as  has  been  already  stated.  Grant  landed 
his  men,  to  the  number  of  5000,  in  Cul  de  Sac  Bay,  and  there 
he  anchored  his  ships.  As  the  French  garrison  was  very  small, 
the  Morne  Fortune  and  other  forts  were  taken  next  day  with 
practically  no  resistance. 

The  French  fleet  carrying  9000  men,  under  Count  D'Estaing, 
hove  in  sight  a  few  days  later,  bearing  for  Castries  under  a  cloud 
of  canvas.  D'Estaing  was  very  happy.  The  island  was  so  still, 
so  peaceful,  so  unconscious  that  the  signs  of  war  were  already  in 
the  skies.  He  would  himself  bring  the  news  and  with  it  good 
cheer  to  his  long-banished  comrades.  He  and  his  9000  men 
would  make  the  good  old  Morne  impregnable,  so  that  when  the 
English    came   they   would    have   a   reception    not   easy    to   be 


CUL   DE   SAC   BAY.  115 

forgotten,  for  he  would  cover  the  slopes  of  the  hill  with  British 
red-coats.  He  could  see  that  there  were  no  ships  in  Castries 
harbour ;  the  well-beloved  flag  of  France  was  flying  at  the  point 
as  well  as  on  the  mount.  Unhappily  he  could  not  see  into  Cul  de 
Sac  Bay. 

One  may  be  sure  that  the  Frenchmen  cheered  as  they  came 
sailing  into  the  harbour  mouth.  No  sooner,  however,  were  they 
within  the  shelter  of  the  island  than — with  a  puff  of  smoke  and 
a  thrust  of  flame — a  clap  of  thunder  broke  out  from  La  Vigie.  It 
was  a  cannon  shot.  In  a  moment  every  gun  in  the  fort  was 
ablaze.  It  was  no  feu  de  j'oie,  for  deck  houses  were  being 
shattered  and  bulwarks  cut  to  splinters,  while  men,  with  a  cheer 
for  the  French  flag  on  their  lips,  were  falling  dead.  D'Estaing 
found  that  he  was  in  a  trap.  How  had  these  accursed  English 
got  here  ?  With  much  confusion,  jostling,  and  yelling,  the  ships 
were  put  about,  and  escaped  from  the  net  of  the  fowler  to  the 
open  sea. 

As  D'Estaing  moved  southwards  he  took  a  look  into  Cul  de 
Sac  Bay.  There  they  were,  snug  enough,  curse  them  !  Those 
were  their  hateful  shouts  that  echoed  back  mockingly  from  the 
cliffs  of  the  haven.  D'Estaing  vowed  he  would  sink  them  at  their 
anchors,  for  in  this  land-locked  cove  they  lay  at  his  mercy — or  at 
least  so  he  thought.  He  made  a  desperate  attack  upon  the  jeering 
ships  from  the  sea,  but  they  showed  no  disposition  to  sink  at  their 
anchors.  More  than  that,  these  men  who  cheered  so  heartily 
actually  drove  him  off.  He  tried  again  to  crush  them,  but  in  the 
second  venture  he  fared  even  worse.  He  determined  then  to  land 
and  to  drive  these  obstinate  trespassers  from  the  island.  With 
this  intent  he  sailed  north  to  Gros  Islet  Bay  where  he  anchored 
and  landed  his  troops  on  the  ample  beach.  He  marched  his  men 
towards  Castries,  resolving  to  take  La  Vigie  and  to  bayonet  the 
wretches  who  had  manned  those  infernal  guns. 

La  Vigie  was  held  by  General  Meadows  with  only  1 300  men. 
Across  the  neck  of  land  which  joins  the  promontory  with  the 
mainland  was  a  line  of  substantial  entrenchments.  The  French 
advanced  upon  the  trenches  in  three  columns,  a  formidable  body 

I  a 


ii6  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

of  men.  They  came  within  musket  range  of  the  earthworks,  but 
not  a  shot  was  fired  by  the  English.  In  a  silence  which  would 
have  daunted  the  bravest  they  neared  the  still  barricade.  The 
defenders  made  no  sign.  It  was  not  until  the  French  were 
actually  in  the  very  ditch  that  the  British  responded.  They  made 
answer  with  a  heavy  fire  which  poured  down  like  a  sudden  hail 
upon  the  crowd  of  men  in  the  fosse.     The  results  were  disastrous. 

The  French,  however,  were  not  to  be  denied.  As  soon  as  they 
had  reformed  they  charged  the  bank  with  fixed  bayonets,  but  the 
British  fire  drove  them  back.  They  hurled  themselves  once  more 
against  the  wall  of  gabions  and  piled-up  earth.  Once  more  they 
were  beaten  off.  A  third  time,  with  angry  shouts,  they  rushed 
upon  the  earthworks,  helmetless,  maddened,  stung  with  wounds, 
every  bayonet  gripped  with  desperation.  A  third  time  they  fell 
away  under  the  murderous  fire  of  the  British.  They  retired  out  of 
musket  range,  halted,  hesitated,  and  then,  while  bleeding  men 
were  crawling  back  out  of  the  ditch,  the  bugle  sounded  the  retreat. 
This  gallant  attempt  upon  La  Vigie  cost  the  French  no  less  than 
400  killed  and  11 00  wounded. 

D'Estaing  had  had  enough.  In  ten  days'  time  he  had  buried 
his  dead,  had  got  his  wounded  on  board,  and  had  sailed  away  out 
of  sight 


I  A.-.rKIi;S,     ST.     LUCIA. 
The  hill  to  the  right  is  the  Morne  Fortune  ;  the  saddle-topped  hill  on  its  left  is  the  Morne  Duchazeau 


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GRAVEYARD     ON     MORNE     FORTUNE,    ST.    LUCIA. 


XXIII. 

THE   MORNE    FORTUNfi. 

A  WINDING  road  ascends  from  Castries  to  the  summit  of  the 
Morne  Fortune.  It  is  a  road  made  gracious  by  many  trees,  by 
cocoanut  palms,  by  a  dell  or  a  thicket  here  and  there,  and  by 
glimpses  of  the  sea.  All  who  mount  this  steep  way  will  find 
that,  step  by  step,  they  are  carried  back  into  the  past.  It  is  a 
Via  Dolorosa,  a  road  of  ghosts,  a  place  more  full  of  memories 
of  a  kind  than  are  the  heights  by  the  Alma  or  the  Ridge  at 
Delhi. 

How  many  hundreds  of  men,  French  and  English,  have 
climbed  this  hillside  with  such  ardour  and  breathless  determina- 
tion and  with  such  fervent  light  in  their  eyes  that  one  would 
suppose  they  thought  to  find  at  the  top  some  beatific  vision  !  If 
the  wealth  of  the  world  had  been  there  they  could  not  have 
stormed  the  slope  with  more  passionate  eagerness.  Yet  there 
was  nothing  on  the  height  but  a  mast  from  which  hung  a  faded 
flag. 

The  summit  of  the  Morne  is  flat  and  of  wide  extent.  There 
are  still  many  old  trees  standing  against  whose  trunks  soldiers, 
French  and  British,  must  have  leaned  while  they  smoked  rare 
pipes  and  talked  of  the  time  when  they  would  be  home  again,  and 
of  "cakes  and  ale."  No  traces  are  now  left  of  the  English 
cottages,  of  the  green  clipped  hedges  and  smooth  grass  plats, 
about  which  Breen  wrote  some  sixty  years  ago.^  So  far  as  I  am 
aware  the  famous  "  iron  barracks "  are  now  no  more.  These 
buildings  were  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made  in  the  year  1827, 

Si.  Lucia,  by  II.  II.  Breen:  London,  1844. 


ii8  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

and  were  designed  to  resist  hurricanes.  To  what  extent  they 
succeeded  in  defying  the  elements  the  records  are  silent.  I  can 
only  find  an  account  of  extensive  damage  done  to  them  by  the 
earthquake  of  1839. 

The  Morne  is  now  very  largely  occupied  by  immense  barracks 
and  storehouses  of  quite  recent  construction.  They  belong  to 
that  class  of  "  Government  building "  in  which  the  struggle  to 
attain  to  primeval  plainness  and  a  surpassing  monotony  has  been 
crowned  with  success.  Defiant  in  their  unblushing  ugliness  they 
remain  as  a  monument  of  the  time  when  the  British  Government 
determined  to  establish  a  naval  and  military  station  at  St.  Lucia. 
The  huge  brick  structures  which  crowd  both  the  Morne  and  La 
Vigie  were  promptly  put  in  hand  and  were  erected  at  a  cost 
stated  to  be  not  less  than  two  million  pounds  sterling.  The 
precious  buildings  have  never  been  occupied,  nor  indeed  were 
they  ever  quite  completed,  for  the  Government,  having  expended 
the  sum  above  named,  changed  its  mind  and  decided,  in  its 
wisdom,  that  St.  Lucia  was  not  to  be  a  military  station  at  all.  So 
the  mighty  pieces  of  ordnance  sent  out  to  further  adorn  the  hill 
were  at  infinite  cost  and  labour  carried  back  again.  The  proceed- 
ing seems  to  have  been  inspired  by  an  attempt  to  imitate  that 
Duke  of  York  who  is  credited  in  song  with  having  marched  a 
body  of  men  to  the  top  of  a  hill  for  the  simple  pleasure  of  seeing 
them  march  down  again. 

Still,  however,  on  the  Morne  are  a  few  venerable  buildings 
which  belong  to  the  old  fighting  days.  Here,  for  example,  is  an 
ancient  magazine  constructed  stoutly  of  stone,  once  white  it  may 
be,  but  now  black  with  age.  Its  roof  is  covered  with  weeds,  its 
walls  and  its  ponderous  buttresses  with  moss  and  ferns.  It  squats 
there  like  an  old  veteran  of  many  wars,  wrinkled,  scarred  and 
shaky  with  the  weight  of  years.  If  its  stones  could  speak  they 
svould  be  very  garrulous  no  doubt,  as  is  the  habit  of  the  senile, 
and  would  mutter  of  bygone  days  as  well  in  French  as  in  English. 
Probably  the  British  were  the  first  to  use  the  magazine,  yet  it 
must  have  been  a  French  soldier  who  rushed  through  the  door  for 
a  last  armful  of  ammunition.     Here,  too,  is  the  old  well  with  its 


THE   MORNE   FORTUNE.  119 

memories  of  blazing  heat  and  thirsty  men.  There  is  a  cannon 
with  the  date  18 18,  but  it  would  have  arrived  long  after  all  the 
fighting  was  over. 

By  far  the  most  interesting  object  on  the  summit  of  the  Morne 
Fortune  is  the  ancient  fort  which  commands  its  south-eastern  face. 
This  is  the  side  immediately  opposite  to  Morne  Duchazeau. 
There  can  be  little  doubt  but  that  it  is  the  identical  "  fleche  " 
which  played  so  conspicuous  a  part  in  Abercromby's  attack  upon 
the  hill.  The  details  of  the  venture  are  as  follows  :  Sir  Ralph 
Abercromby  landed  in  Anse  du  Choc  with  12,000  men  on  April 
26,  1796.  With  him  was  that  Sir  John  Moore  who  thirteen  years 
after  was  shot  dead  at  Corunna  at  the  moment  of  victory.  At 
Corunna  he  was  buried  amidst  surroundings  which  are  made 
familiar  by  Wolfe's  famous  poem  "  The  Burial  of  Sir  John 
Moore."  His  portrait  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery  shows  a 
clean-shaven  man  with  a  face  so  good-humoured  and  hearty  that 
he  seems  as  if  he  must  break  into  laughter.  Moore  first  of  all 
took  Morne  Chabot  and  then  Morne  Duchazeau — two  out  of  the 
three  hills  which  surround  Castries.  This  he  effected  with  the 
loss  of  only  seventy  men.  Morne  Duchazeau  is  the  saddle-topped 
hill  already  described  (page  1 13).  It  is  890  feet  high,  is  steep  and 
well-covered  with  trees  and  bushes.  It  commands  the  Morne 
Fortune  which  has  an  altitude  of  only  845  feet. 

Batteries  were  constructed  on  the  summit  of  Duchazeau  and 
then  with  fearful  toil  guns  were  dragged  up  the  mountain  side  to 
the  emplacements.  It  must  have  been  a  labour  of  Hercules. 
Imagine  the  hauling,  pulling  and  pushing,  the  skyward-pointing 
guns,  the  creaking  ropes  that  swung  them  from  bending  tree 
trunks,  the  shower  of  stones  when  the  carriage  skidded,  the  red- 
faced  perspiring  men  in  clammy  shirts,  the  shouts  and  the  oaths, 
and  around  all  the  atmosphere  of  steam  and  flies  !  It  was  a  slow 
business  as  well  as  a  hot  one,  but  at  daybreak  on  May  24 
Duchazeau  opened  fire  on  the  Morne  Fortun(^.  The  guns  did  well. 
In  due  course  Moore  at  the  head  of  the  27th  Regiment  "  stormed 
a  fleche '  which  formed  the  principal  outwork  of  the  Morne 
'  A  fleche  is  defined  as  "  the  simplest  form  of  field  fortification." 


I20  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

Fortun6  towards  the  East." '  He  captured  it  and  held  it  against 
two  desperate  attempts  of  the  enemy  to  retake  the  position.  By 
sundown  the  hill  was  practically  in  the  hands  of  the  English,  and 
on  the  following  morning  the  garrison  of  2000  men  laid  down 
their  arms.  The  27th  lost  in  this  strenuous  attack  eight  officers 
and  eighty  men. 

The  old  fort  or  fleche  stands  alone  at  the  very  edge  of  the 
hill,  immediately  facing  Morne  Duchazeau.  In  the  col  between 
the  two  heights  is  a  connecting  ridge  along  which  Moore  came  at 
the  head  of  the  27th  Regiment.  The  fort  is  well  built  of  stone,  but 
is  now  so  overgrown  with  grass  and  bushes  that  only  in  a  few 
places  can  the  masonry  be  seen.  The  works  are  in  two  tiers 
with  a  ravelin  on  one  side.  It  must  have  been  a  desperate  place 
to  have  reached,  as  any  may  judge  who  will  descend  to  the  foot  01 
the  slope  and  then  climb  up  to  the  fleche  again. 

This  quiet,  gentle,  green  mound  and  ditch  are  grandly  placed, 
and  even  now  it  needs  no  imagination  to  tell  that  he  who  led  the 
assault  upon  such  an  eagle's  aerie  must  have  had  a  stout  heart. 
It  is,  to-day,  an  utter  solitude,  hushed  in  eternal  silence.  Probably 
the  last  stirring  sound  that  echoed  round  its  walls  was  on  that 
very  day  in  May  when,  at  sundown,  the  dirt-stained  bugler  of  the 
27th  Regiment  blew  the  call  "  Cease  firing." 

The  view  from  the  summit  of  the  Morne  Fortun6  is  a  delight 
to  the  eye.  Inland  is  a  superb  country  of  steep,  soft  hills,  of  black 
ravines  and  of  valleys  that  lead  far  away  into  bays  of  purple  mist. 
Directly  below,  over  the  tree  tops,  are  the  roofs  of  Castries  and 
the  blue  harbour.  Beyond  is  the  spit  of  land,  La  Vigie,  lying  on 
the  sea  as  a  model  in  clay  would  lie  on  a  sheet  of  violet  glass. 
Then  comes  a  stretch  of  sea  coast  so  enchanting  that  it  might  be 
the  shore  of  a  happier  world.  It  ends  in  the  famous  bay  of  Gros 
Islet  where  Rodney  anchored  his  fleet  before  the  great  fight  of 
April  12,  1782. 

In  the  far  haze  is  Pigeon  Island,  a  pale,  conical  rock  standing 
out  of  the  sea.  This  is  the  little  island  that  Rodney  fortified  to 
the  great  discomfort  of  the  French,  as  well  as  the  perch  from  which 

'  Fortescue's  History  of  the  British  Army,  vol.  iv  :  London,  1906. 


THE    MORNE    FORTUNE.  121 

he  watched,  with  such  good  effect,  the  movements  of  the  enemy. 
Yet  it  is  a  place  only  three-quarters  of  a  mile  long  and  much  less 
than  that  in  width.  It  once  had  barracks  for  six  officers  and  one 
hundred  men,  or  for  as  many  of  the  hundred  as  had  survived 
death  from  yellow  fever. 

A  little  way  down  the  side  of  the  Morne  Fortune  is  the  officers' 
cemetery.  The  road  leading  to  it,  which  was  once  so  well  worn,  is 
now  overgrown  with  grass.  Round  about  the  cluster  of  graves 
is  a  thicket  of  sand-box  trees,  while  beyond  the  trees  is  a  home- 
suggesting  stretch  of  open  sea.  This  ever  silent  gathering  place 
of  the  British  is  the  most  beautiful  spot  on  the  side  of  the  hill.  A 
number  of  the  graves  are  blackened  with  age.  Some  are  of  stone, 
others  of  weather-worn  brick.  Most  of  them  tell  the  same  story — 
the  roll-call  of  the  Yellow  Death,  the  major  of  this  regiment  or 
the  lieutenant  of  that,  and  so  many  of  them  mere  lads. 

The  loss  of  life  among  the  British  troops  in  the  West  Indies 
and  notably  in  St.  Lucia,  was  in  those  days  appalling.  The 
majority  of  the  deaths  was  due  to  yellow  fever.  After  Sir  Ralph 
Abercromby's  attack  on  the  Morne  in  1796  Sir  John  Moore  was 
left  in  command  of  the  island  with  a  garrison  of  4000  men.  This 
was  in  June.  When  November  came  the  force  had  been  reduced 
by  yellow  fever  to  1000  fit  for  duty  and  1 500  sick.^  When  the 
English  were  compelled  to  leave  St.  Lucia  in  1795  among  the 
total  force  of  1400  there  were  no  less  than  600  sick,  nearly  one- 
half,  while  on  the  very  day  of  embarkation  one  officer  and  seven 
men  died. 

The  whole  campaign,  lasting  from  1793  to  1796,  resulted  in 
"  the  total  of  80,000  soldiers  lost  to  the  service,  including  40,000 
actually  dead  ;  the  latter  number  exceeding  the  total  losses  of 
Wellington's  army  from  death,  discharges,  desertion  and  all  causes 
from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  Peninsular  War."  '^ 

It  was  during  the  year  1794  that  the  mortality  was  the  highest. 
Men  were  dying  in  numbers  every  day,  in  Guadaloupe  at  the  rate 
of  300  a  month.  Of  General  Grey's  original  force  of  7000  men  at 
least  5000  perished  in  the  course  of  this  one  year.^     Taking  the 

'   P'ortescue's  History  of  the  British  Army,  vol.  iv.  "  Ibid.  '  Ibid. 


122  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

army,  navy  and  transport  together,  writes  Fortescue,  "  it  is 
probably  beneath  the  mark  to  say  that  12,000  EngHshmen  were 
buried  in  the  West  Indies  in  1794." 

The  soldiers  were  badly  housed  and  badly  fed.  Many  were 
in  rags.  There  was  a  lack  of  clothing,  especially  of  boots  ;  a  lack, 
not  only  of  comforts,  but  of  the  simple  necessaries  of  life.  The 
Home  Government  remained  unmoved  and  unmovable.  Either 
from  indifference  or  incompetence  the  Secretary  of  State  did 
nothing.  Grey  wrote  letter  after  letter,  but  without  avail.  At 
last  he  sends  home  a  message  with  this  pitiable  sentence,  "  You 
seem  to  have  forgotten  us." 

In  1780  four  newly  raised  regiments  were  ordered  to  Jamaica. 
They  stopped  on  their  way  at  St.  Lucia,  where  they  contracted 
yellow  fever.  By  the  time  the  transports  reached  Kingston 
Harbour  they  had  lost  168  men  by  death,  and  had  780  on  the 
sick  list.  During  the  course  of  the  first  five  months,  after  the 
survivors  had  been  stationed  at  Jamaica,  iioo  more  had  died  of 
the  fever  and  of  other  diseases.  It  was  then  that  Dalling,  the 
Governor,  ventured  to  place  the  matter  before  the  Secretary  of 
State  in  a  way  that  he  thought  would  appeal  to  his  intelligence. 
He  writes  as  follows  :  "  Considered  only  as  an  article  of  commerce 
these  1 1 00  men  have  cost  22,000/.,  a  sum  which,  if  laid  out  above 
ground,  might  have  saved  half  their  lives." 

It  is,  and  always  will  be,  a  gruesome  and  discreditable  story. 
If  ever,  on  some  silent  tropical  night,  there  should  be  heard  again 
on  the  Morne  Fortund  the  tramp  of  the  sentry  by  the  barrack 
wall  and  the  challenge  of  the  guard  at  the  outpost,  and  if  ever  the 
stir  of  human  life  should  waken  among  these  blackened  graves, 
the  voice  that  would  call  from  the  summit  of  the  hill  would  utter 
those  reproachful  words,  "  You  seem  to  have  forgotten  us." 


XXIV. 

CASTRIES  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

Castries,  in  spite  of  its  chequered  and  unrestful  history,  is  not 
interesting.  It  sprawls  upon  a  flat  at  the  foot  of  the  hills,  a  poor 
meagre  place,  quite  out  of  keeping  with  its  superb  surroundings. 
The  houses  are  mostly  of  wood.  Those  who  built  them  would 
appear  to  have  been  dissatisfied  with  the  world,  and  to  have  had 
little  heart  to  make  their  homes  either  comely  or  long-abiding. 
The  quay,  although  gloomy  with  the  coal-dust  of  half  a  century, 
can  claim  to  provide  a  good  background  for  the  women  folk  of 
Castries  who,  when  in  their  gala  dress,  are  as  gorgeous  as  red  and 
blue  macaws.  There  is  a  dejected  square  in  the  centre  of  the 
town  which  looks  as  if  it  were  up  for  sale.  It  has  around  it, 
however,  some  "  ornamental  trees "  planted  by  Sir  Dudley  Hill 
about  1834,  which  help  to  cover  its  nakedness. 

Even  now  it  would  need  a  very  unscrupulous  estate  agent  to 
make  it  appear  that  Castries  was  a  place  of  "  desirable  residence." 
In  days  not  long  gone  by  it  was  famous  for  its  reckless  death-rate. 
Its  insalubrity  was  due  to  many  things,  to  swamps  which  bred 
malaria,  to  yellow  fever,  to  a  contempt  for  drainage,  and  to  the 
cheapness  of  a  fiery  drink  called  "  white  rum." 

The  ill  repute  of  the  town  was,  according  to  Breen,  ^  once 
made  use  of  to  dispose  of  an  inconvenient  guest.  The  historian 
of  St.  Lucia  states  that,  early  in  the  'thirties,  the  bishop  of  the 
diocese,  in  the  course  of  his  tour,  reached  Castries.  He  was 
naturally  asked  to  dine  at  Government  House.  The  hour  for 
dinner  would  probably  have  been  about  four  in  the  afternoon. 
The  Governor  then  in  residence  was  a  mean  man  who  had  many 

'  Si.  Lucia,  by  IT.  II.  Breen  :  London,  1844. 


124  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

reasons  for  not  wishing  to  take  the  bishop  and  his  suite  into 
Government  House.  Apart  from  the  mere  question  of  economy  the 
Governor's  wife  and  family  were  in  England  and  the  establishment 
had  been  reduced  to  the  barest  possible  compass.  After  dinner  the 
Governor  essayed  to  show  the  bishop  over  the  building  and  in  the 
course  of  the  survey  treated  him,  it  may  be  imagined,  to  some  such 
converse  as  the  following  :  "  This  is  the  best  bedroom,  bishop. 
It  was  here  that  my  predecessor  died  of  yellow  fever.  You  will 
remember  him — a  most  genial  man.  Look  out  for  this  step  in  the 
passage  !  We  found  it  a  very  awkward  corner  for  a  coffin.  This 
next  room  has  a  charming  view  of  the  sea ;  the  bedstead  is  a 
specimen  of  Creole  work.  Poor  old  Colonel  Smithson  had  his 
worst  fit  on  that  bed  ;  took  two  men  to  hold  him  ;  poor  dear  man, 
he  has  now  been  paralysed  three  years.  This  third  bedroom  we 
call  the  red  room  :  it  gets  the  morning  sun.  I  hope  you  admire 
the  curtains,  they  came  from  England.  Here  poor  Morris,  my 
secretary,  died.  He  seems  to  have  got  typhoid  fever  in  the  house, 
although  we  are  most  careful.  A  short  illness,  poor  fellow !  I  bought 
his  horse,  that  roan  you  saw  at  the  door.  Now  you  must  come 
upstairs  and  see  the  blue  room  and  the  fine  outlook  over  the  town. 
It  was  where  poor  Major  Jones  died  when  he  was  here  on  a  visit. 
Abscess  of  the  liver,  you  will  recollect.  Dreadful  case!  You  could 
hear  his  groans  down  in  the  smoking-room." 

But  the  bishop  did  not  want  to  see  any  more  nor  to  hear  any 
more.  He  ordered  his  horse  and  rode  down  into  the  town,  reflecting 
as  he  went  on  the  uncertainty  of  life — at  least,  in  Government 
House.  After  he  had  gone  the  one  man-servant  probably  found 
the  Governor  alone  in  the  smoking-room  chuckling  to  himself 
about  "  a  house  with  a  reputation." 

At  set  seasons  Castries  was  liable  to  be  raided  by  hurricanes, 
or  to  be  paralysed  by  earthquakes.  The  householder  in  this 
peculiarly  unquiet  town  was  prepared  at  any  time  to  see  his  roof 
torn  away  by  a  tornado,  or  his  windows  shaken  like  dust  into  the 
road  by  an  earthquake,  or  a  coffin  carried  into  his  door  by  callous 
men  who  "  had  come  for  the  body."  It  is  no  wonder  if  the 
citizens  became  neurotic.     "  The  slightest  shock  (of  earthquake)," 


CASTRIES   AND    ITS   PEOPLE  125 

writes  Breen,  "  drives  the  people  into  the  streets,  throwing  the 
gentlemen  out  of  their  windows  and  their  wits,  and  the  ladies  into 
holes  and  hysterics." 

Never,  indeed,  could  one  find 

Calm  and  deep  peace  on  this  high  wold. 

A  body  of  looting  soldiers  in  the  streets  duly  heated  with  white 
rum,  a  rising  of  the  negroes  bent  on  arson  and  murder,  or  the 
bombardment  of  the  Morne  were  events  to  be  expected  only  from 
time  to  time,  but  never  was  there  immunity  from  the  snakes,  the 
centipedes,  the  scorpions,  the  tarantulas,  the  mosquitoes  and  the 
wasps  with  which  the  island  was  overrun  in  Breen's  time. 

St.  Lucia  will  always  be  notable  in  books  on  natural  history 
as  the  favourite  haunt  of  that  "abominable  reptile"  the  Fer-de-Lance^ 
or  yellow  viper,  the  "  Death  of  the  Woods."  Of  all  venomous 
snakes  this  execrable  creature  is  the  fiercest,  most  aggressive  and 
most  deadly.  The  very  name  the  "  Yellow  Viper  "  would  seem 
to  be  as  loathsome  a  title  as  could  be  invented  for  a  living  thing, 
and  if  a  tenth  of  the  stories  told  about  it  be  true  it  deserves  any 
ignominy.  It  has  a  low,  flat  head,  triangular  in  shape.  Its  skin 
affects  the  yellow-brown  tint  of  decomposition.  "  The  iris  of  the 
eye  is  orange,  with  red  flashes  :  it  glows  at  night  like  burning 
charcoal.  In  a  walk  through  the  woods  at  any  moment  a  seeming 
branch,  a  knot  of  lianas,  a  pink  or  gray  root,  a  clump  of  pendent 
yellow  fruit,  may  suddenly  take  life,  writhe,  stretch,  spring,  strike."  ^ 

Castries  is  still  distinctly  a  French  town  in  spite  of  its  long 
occupation  by  the  British.  The  negroes  talk  a  fearful  patois, 
"a  jargon  of  lop-sided  French  and  maimed  English,  flavoured 
with  the  Ethiopian  twang."  A  large  proportion  of  them  own  to 
French  names,  but  a  negro's  name  is  an  uncertain  guide  as  to  the 
nationality  he  may  have  adopted.  Breen  furnishes  an  illustration 
of  this.  Monsieur  Jean  Marie  Beauregard,  a  coal-black  negro, 
comes  to  think  Jean  Marie  too  vulgar,  so  he  takes  to  himself  the 
more  refined  name  of  Alfred.     His  friends  find  Beauregard   too 

'   Two   Years  in  the  French   West  Ittdies,  by  Lafcadio  Hearn,  pp.  56  and  57  :  New 
York,  1S90. 


126  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

long,  so  he  becomes  Monsieur  Alfred  and  his  wife  Madame 
Alfred.     In  this  manner  an  apparently  new  family  is  founded. 

The  population  of  St.  Lucia  may  be  precisely  described  as 
"  mixed  " — mixed  both  as  to  nationality  and  colour.  There  is 
every  tint  of  skin,  from  ebony  to  jessamine  white.  Picturesque 
mulattos  are  here  of  all  grades  of  yellow  or  brown,  fair  Creoles 
who  may  claim  descent  from  ancient  French  families,  or  who  may 
trace  their  ancestry  back  to  some  adventurous  Scots  who  left 
their  villages  in  the  Highlands  at  the  bidding  of  the  call  of  the  sea. 

Certain  black  folk  in  St.  Lucia  are  descendants  of  the  Pass- 
parterres — the  come-by-land  people.  They  were  refugees  from 
Martinique,  who  fled  from  that  island  when  it  was  French  to 
St.  Lucia  when  it  was  British.  They  kept  secret  the  method  of 
their  escape  from  slavery  as  well  as  the  means  whereby  they 
reached  St.  Lucia.  "  How  had  they  come  ?  "  asked  the  meddle- 
some and  inquisitive.  "  They  had  come  by  land "  was  the 
courteous  answer  of  the  grinning  stranger.  Thus  it  was  that  they 
were  called  the  Passparterres.  As  the  English  would  never  give 
these  refugees  up  to  the  French,  they  remained  free  men  and 
became,  in  many  cases,  desirable  settlers  and  citizens. 

Breen  had  so  long  an  experience  of  the  West  Indian  negro, 
that  his  account  of  him  is  worthy  of  attention.  He  describes  the 
black  man  as  gay,  good-humoured,  docile  and  sober,  generous  and 
fond  of  children,  "  submissive  but  never  obsequious,  active  but  not 
laborious,  superstitious  but  not  religious,  addicted  to  thieving 
without  being  a  rogue,  averse  to  matrimony  yet  devoted  to 
several  wives."  His  profound  capacity  for  indolence  he  illustrates 
in  the  following  manner  :  "  A  negro  espies  his  fellow  at  the  end 
of  the  street,  and  rather  than  join  him  in  a  tete-a-tete  he  will  carry 
on  a  conversation  with  him  for  several  hours  at  the  top  of  his 
voice,  to  the  unspeakable  annoyance,  perhaps  the  scandal,  of  all 
those  who  may  occupy  the  intermediate  houses.  Should  the  wind 
blow  off  his  hat  he  will  continue  the  conversation,  and  let  someone 
else  pick  it  up  for  him  ;  or  if  he  condescends  to  notice  the 
occurrence  will  walk  leisurely  after  it  until  it  meets  with  some 
natural  obstruction."  ^ 

'  St.  Lucia,  by  H.  H.  Breen,  page  203 :  London,  1844. 


CASTRIES   AND    ITS    PEOPLE.  127 

It  was  into  the  harbour  of  Castries  that  there  crept  on  May  8, 
1902,  an  unexpected  and  woeful-looking  steamer.  She  came 
slowly,  as  if  in  pain,  her  screw  labouring  through  the  water  with 
much  moaning  and  creaking.  She  was  grey  and  ghost-like.  Every 
scrap  of  paint  had  been  burnt  from  her  sides,  or  was  hanging  from 
the  bare  iron  like  flaps  of  skin.  Her  ropes  were  charred  ;  the 
planks  of  her  charthouse  were  blackened.  A  fainting  man  at  the 
wheel  clung  to  the  spokes  to  prevent  himself  from  falling.  His 
face  was  so  blistered  that  his  eyes  were  nearly  shut ;  his  hair  was 
singed  close  to  his  skull  ;  his  hands  were  raw  and  bleeding ;  his 
clothes  scorched  into  something  that  was  black  and  brittle.  The 
decks  of  the  ship  were  like  a  grey  sand-dune,  for  upon  them  were 
many  tons  of  still  hot  ashes.  There  were  horrible  shapes  lying 
muffled  in  this  dust — the  bodies  of  dead  men  who  were  covered 
with  cinders  as  with  a  shroud.  This  was  the  steamship  Rod- 
dam^  the  only  vessel  that  escaped  from  the  fearful  disaster  which 
had  overwhelmed  the  town  and  harbour  of  St.  Pierre. 

Towards  the  south  of  the  island  is  the  curious  little  town  of 
Soufriere,  lying  in  the  bend  of  a  glorious  bay  whose  blue  depths 
are  such  that  an  anchor,  to  reach  the  bottom,  would  need  from 
300  to  600  feet  of  cable.  This  haphazard  village  of  wooden 
shanties  is  placed  at  the  mouth  of  a  green  valley  which  is  making 
its  way  seawards.  The  place  has  a  look  of  unreality  appropriate 
to  some  "  pirates'  lair  "  in  a  scene  at  a  theatre.  The  stepping  forth 
of  a  corps  de  ballet  and  a  crowd  of  much  rouged  buccaneers  would 
hardly  excite  surprise. 

On  the  occasion  of  the  steamer's  visit  the  motley  inhabitants 
came  down  to  the  beach  en  masse,  jostling  and  grinning,  men, 
women  and  children,  hazy  dotards  and  naked  infants.  From 
under  the  trees,  from  out  of  quaint  streets  and  lanes  they  poured 
to  the  water's  edge,  where  they  crowded  about  the  primitive  boats 
and  the  piles  of  gaudy  fish  on  the  beach.  The  children  crawled  and 
wriggled  to  the  front  as  if  the  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin  were  calling 
them  from  the  bay.  Over  the  sea  of  heads,  heads  of  woolly  hair, 
heads  covered  with  brilliant  turbans,  golf  caps,  sombreros,  straw 
hats  without  brims  and  felt  hats  without  crowns,  it  was  possible  to 
see  into  the  town  and  to  see  that  it  was  empty,  save,  perhaps,  for 


128  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

one  single  belated  woman  who,  having  picked  up  a  forgotten  baby, 
was  rushing  helter-skelter  to  the  shore. 

The  population  of  the  settlement  is  given  as  2300.  Whatever 
it  might  be,  I  am  convinced  that  we  saw  the  entire  number 
on  the  beach  that  day,  excepting  only  the  bedridden  and  the 
moribund. 

On  the  south  of  the  cove  are  the  two  famous  pyramidal  or 
tooth-shaped  rocks,  the  Pitons,  which  rise  to  the  height  re- 
spectively of  2460  and  2620  feet.  They  are  sheer,  isolated  and 
terrible,  with  the  aspect  of  Titanic  mountain  peaks  which  have 
been  removed  and  cast  into  the  sea.  They  are  partly  covered 
with  trees  which  hold  on  to  the  rock  face  in  some  miraculous 
fashion.  The  appearance  of  this  almost  vertical  forest  provokes  a 
sense  of  dizziness.  The  root  of  one  tree  may  be  on  a  level  with 
the  top  of  the  one  just  below  it,  each  clinging  to  a  narrow  ledge 
on  a  sheer  wall. 

Some  little  way  inland,  behind  the  opera-bouffe  town,  are  the 
sulphur  springs  of  Soufriere.  The  same  are  thus  described  by 
Mr.  Paton  ^  :  "  We  came  to  the  verge  of  a  yawning  gulf,  a  mile  or 
more  in  circumference,  whose  sides  rose  perpendicularly,  in  fact 
almost  overhung  the  dismal  abyss,  at  the  bottom  of  which,  two  or 
three  hundred  feet  below  us,  we  could  see  many  springs  boiling 
amid  rocks  that  looked  like  the  ruins  of  ancient  lime  kilns. 
Issuing  from  these  pits  were  clouds  of  fetid  steam,  noisome  ex- 
halations, causing  destruction  of  vegetation  near  the  pits  and 
blackening  the  rocks  on  which  they  condensed.  It  was  a  most 
uncanny  sort  of  place,  desolate,  infernal  in  aspect,  and  to  the 
leeward  of  this  Avernus  the  grass  and  blighted  vegetation  for  a 
long  distance  all  around  were  discoloured  and  stained,  which  gave 
them  the  appearance  of  lying  continually  under  the  shadow  of 
a  dense  cloud." 

King  Louis  XVI.  caused  baths  and  appropriate  buildings  to  be 

erected  near  these  springs  "  for  the  use  of  his  Majesty's  troops  in 

the  Windward  Islands."     In  the  course  of  time  a  quite  extensive 

spa  was  established  about  a  mile  from  the  town.     Invalids  came 

^  Down  the  Islands,  page  265  :  London,  1888. 


CASTRIES   AND    ITS   PEOPLE.  129 

hither  from  all  parts,  even  from  France,  in  spite  of  the  dangerous 
and  weary  journey.  They  came  to  the  spa  because  it  was  new, 
little  known,  and  a  long  way  off.  As  is  the  habit  of  the  sick  they 
were  attracted  by  something  pungent  to  smell  and  disgusting  to 
drink,  and  by  mysterious  modes  of  bathing,  associated  with  some 
suggestion  of  the  rites  of  sorcery.  They  were  attracted  also  by 
that  pathetic  belief  in  the  miraculous  and  the  supernatural  which 
figures  ever  in  tlie  despairing  creed  of  stricken  men  and  women. 


130  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE    DEEP. 


XXV. 

THE  SONG  OF  CASIMIR  DELAVIGNE. 

The  history  has  yet  to  be  written  which  will  deal  with  the  efifects 
of  the  French  Revolution  upon  the  people  in  the  French  West 
Indies,  and,  at  the  same  time,  tell  of  the  strange  activities  it 
aroused  and  of  the  bizarre  ends  to  which  it  led. 

The  greater  number  of  the  inhabitants  of  these  islands  were 
negroes  who  were  living  in  a  not-oppressive  slavery.  To  them 
came,  with  much  shouting  and  with  an  unfamiliar  shaking  of 
hands,  the  knowledge  that  they  were  "  men  and  brothers."  The 
information  flattered  their  pride  even  though  it  was  conveyed  in 
terms  of  some  ambiguity.  The  tricolour  was  planted  on  the 
island  fort.  There  was  much  strange  speech  in  the  streets  and  on 
the  quays,  yelled  by  loud-voiced  men  standing  on  sugar  tubs.  It 
was  very  pleasant :  it  was  an  inspiring  change,  and  when  in  1 794 
slavery  was  abolished  in  the  French  West  Indies  there  was  a 
practical  outcome  for  a  deal  of  talk. 

There  entered,  at  this  time,  into  the  negro's  life  an  indefinite 
joy  embodied  in  the  term  "the  rights  of  man."  The  phrase  was 
comforting,  full  of  sweet  promise  and  wild  possibilities.  It  was 
not  precisely  construed,  but  there  was  in  it  some  hint  of  eternal 
idleness,  some  forecast  of  that  basking  in  the  sun  which,  in  the 
negro's  creed,  represents  "  the  whole  duty  of  man  "  as  well  as  the 
eternal  privilege  of  the  angels.  The  "rights  of  man"  included 
not  only  bawling  in  the  streets  and  lounging  on  the  quay  side,  but 
they  embraced  free  access  to  rum,  some  acquiring  of  that  property 
which  was  common  to  the  Brotherhood,  and  the  occasional 
diversion  of  seeing  a  planter's  mill  in  flames. 


THE   SONG   OF   CASIMIR   DELAVIGNE.  131 

Amongst  other  effects  of  the  Revolution  was  an  abhorrence  of 
the  unenlightened  English.  That  people  did  not  embrace  the 
negro  with  brotherly  arras,  nor  did  they  profess  any  knowledge  of 
the  "  rights  of  man."  They  so  believed  in  "  good,  old-fashioned  " 
slavery  for  the  negro  that  when  a  French  island  was  captured  the 
coloured  folk  found  themselves  once  again  in  bondage.  Thus  it 
came  about  that,  at  this  period,  the  black  man  sided  with  the 
French  whenever  war  was  in  progress.  Abercromby  in  his  attack 
upon  the  islands  in  1796  found  himself  opposed,  not  only  by  his 
old  friends  the  French,  but  also  by  their  new  friends  the  negroes. 
The  English,  when  they  had  taken  St,  Lucia,  learnt  that  their 
endeavours  were  by  no  means  at  an  end  as  soon  as  they  had 
conquered  the  Morne  Fortune  and  had  pulled  down  the  French 
flag. 

There  was  peace  on  the  hill  but  not  in  the  woods.  In  the 
forests  was  a  hidden  army,  silent,  desperate  and  venomous. 
It  was  made  up  of  runaway  slaves,  of  negroes  whom  the  Revolu- 
tion had  set  free,  and  of  escaped  or  deserting  French  soldiers. 
These  were  the  brigands  or  bushrangers  who  introduced  the 
Reign  of  Terror  into  many  a  smiling  island.  So  full  of  hate  were 
they,  so  merciless,  so  driven  to  extremes,  that  they  became  more 
deadly  than  the  yellow  vipers  that  slunk  around  their  bivouacs. 
The  chronicles  of  that  invisible  army  were  rich  in  murders  and 
ambuscades,  in  kidnapping,  man-hunting  and  cattle-raiding. 
They  avoided  battle,  being  content  to  count  as  their  victories  the 
burning  homestead,  the  planter  stabbed  in  the  back,  the  mutilated 
woman  and  the  dismembered  child. 

The  leader  of  the  brigands  in  St.  Lucia  was  one  Lacroix, 
who,  in  his  communications  to  Sir  John  Moore,  styled  himself 
"  Commandant  de  I'Arm^e  Fran^aise  dans  les  bois."  "  The  Army 
in  the  Wood  !  "  a  battalion  of  half-naked  negroes,  armed  with 
knives  and  bludgeons,  of  famished  and  unshaven  white  men  with 
the  rags  of  the  uniforms  of  France  hanging  from  their  limbs,  their 
muskets  rusty,  and  their  eyes  aflame  from  the  last  orgy  on  rum. 
A  company  of  these  men,  squatting  in  a  clearing  in  the  forest  to 
discuss  fresh  schemes  of  murder,  must  have  appeared — from  their 


132  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

hungry  looks  and  savage  growls — no  other  than  a  gathering  of 
wer-wolves. 

The  Revolution  of  July  1830,  modest  as  it  was,  led  to  results 
in  the  Far  West  which  were  wholly  unexpected.  It  was  by  the 
uprising  in  July  that  the  people  in  Paris  deposed  Charles  X.  and 
placed  Louis-Philippe  in  his  place  upon  the  throne.  It  is  not 
easy  to  see  how  a  change  in  the  reigning  family,  from  the  house 
of  Bourbon  to  that  of  Orleans,  could  have  concerned,  or  even 
interested,  the  negro  labourers  in  a  remote  island  like  Martinique. 
What  did,  however,  happen  is  very  graphically  told  of  by  Breen 
in  his  "  History  of  St.  Lucia." 

In  the  autumn  of  1830,  a  French  ship  arrived  at  St.  Pierre  in 
Martinique,  laden  with  heroes  fresh  from  the  streets  and  slums  of 
Paris.  The  friends  of  Louis-Philippe,  finding  their  master  firmly 
seated  on  the  throne,  thought  well  to  get  rid  of  some  of  their 
tools.  The  most  dangerous  of  these  tattered  king-makers  they 
shipped  across  the  seas  to  people  Campeachy  and  other  wilds  in 
the  New  World.  It  was  little  matter  where  they  went  so  long  as 
it  was  far  enough  from  Paris.  The  barque  that  carried  this 
precious  cargo  had  the  appropriate  name  of  the  Glaneiise — the 
Gleaner.  The  harvest  had  been  reaped,  and  it  was  well  to  clear 
the  mowed  field. 

With  the  pious  intention  of  introducing  new  blood  among  the 
inhabitants  of  Martinique  the  Glaneuse  landed  a  number  of  these 
choice  citoyens  upon  the  quay  of  St.  Pierre.  They  were  the  scum 
of  Paris,  such  human  froth  as  only  the  bubbling  of  a  revolution 
can  bring  up  from  the  depths — a  crowd  of  reputed  artisans,  street 
loafers,  decrotteurs,  jail-birds,  discharged  soldiers,  and  those  half- 
crazy  folk  who  rush  out  of  alleys  to  scream  and  wave  banners 
whenever  there  is  a  rising  of  any  kind  in  any  city. 

These  "heroes  of  July"  found,  when  they  landed,  that  they 
were  shunned  by  the  respectable  French  of  St.  Pierre.  They 
therefore  hobnobbed  with  the  negroes.  The  blacks  were  delighted 
and  indeed  honoured.  For  days  and  days,  says  Breen,  "  negroes 
and  '  heroes  of  July '  paraded  the  streets  arm  in  arm,  or  caroused 
together  in  the  beer-shops." 


I 


THE   SONG   OF   CASIMIR   DELAVIGNE.  133 

The  new-comers  told  their  black  brethren  of  the  glories  of 
street  fighting,  of  barricades  made  out  of  overturned  wagons  and 
coaches,  of  the  joy  of  kneeling  on  a  soldier's  chest  while  you 
jagged  his  face  with  a  broken  bottle,  of  eyes  ripped  out  upon  the 
cheek  by  well-aimed  flints,  of  the  looting  of  taverns,  of  petroleum 
poured  into  cellars  and  followed  by  a  lighted  match.  To  the 
listeners  this  was  delicious  converse.  The  negro  is  theatrical 
in  matters  of  the  emotions,  he  is  illogical  and  impulsive,  for  there 
is  still  a  good  deal  of  the  savage  in  his  blood. 

The  passengers  from  the  Glaneuse  had  much  to  say  that 
was  inspiriting  about  the  "  rights  of  man."  They  brought  with 
them  also  another  phrase  which  more  vividly  impressed  the  heavy 
mind  of  the  field  labourer.  They  talked  of  "the  will  of  the 
people."  "  Look,"  said  the  heroes  of  July,  "  what  the  people  can 
do  and  have  done  !  They  alone  are  the  power  in  the  State  !  Is  it 
all  well  with  you,  the  people  of  Martinique  ? "  The  plantation 
hand  answered  that  it  was  not  well. 

One  thing  more  the  men  from  Paris  introduced  to  their  negro 
friends.  They  brought  with  them  Delavigne's  song  "  La 
Parisienne."  This  had  been  the  hymn  of  the  Revolution.  It  had 
been  yelled  in  defiant  chorus  by  frantic  mobs,  had  been  sung 
solemnly  at  secret  gatherings  and  often  in  a  woman's  sweet  voice, 
had  been  hummed  or  whistled  by  a  thousand  stragglers  through 
the  panic-hushed  streets  of  Paris,  It  was  the  war  cry  of  the 
revolutionists,  the  chant  that  had  led  them  to  victory.  Casimir 
Delavigne,  the  famous  lyric  poet,  the  author  of  "  Les  Vepres 
Siciliennes,"  had  little  thought  to  what  ends  his  song  would 
lead. 

Every  negro  in  St.  Pierre  learnt  the  rhyme  and  sung  it.  It 
could  be  heard  the  day  long,  in  the  cabaret,  in  the  streets,  among 
the  brakes  of  sugar-cane,  on  the  solitary  road. 

Paris  n'a  plus  qu'un  cri  de  gloire : 

En  avant  rnarchons 

Centre  leurs  canons. 
A  travers  le  feu  des  bataillons,  \ 

Courons  4  la  Victoire  I 


134  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

To  suit  local  affairs  and  to  indicate  the  objects  of  all  hatred,  the 
negro,  in  his  singing,  substituted  for  "  leurs  canons,"  "  les  colons." 

En  avant  marchons 
Centre  les  colons 

became  the  refrain  whenever  no  planters  were  near  to  hear. 

Now  began  pleasant  days  for  the  coloured  folk  of  St.  Pierre. 
Under  the  guidance  of  their  friends  from  the  Emotional  City  they 
planned  a  revolution  of  their  own.  The  rising  was  to  be  in 
February.  They  were  then  to  enforce  the  will  of  the  people  and 
to  make  themselves  immortal  as  the  Heroes  of  Martinique.  There 
were  secret  meetings  at  midnight  on  silent  beaches  and  in  glades 
of  the  forest,  where  the  plotters  talked  in  whispers  and  where  oaths 
were  sworn.  There  were  all  the  delightful  mysteries  of  passwords 
and  signs,  the  covert  understanding,  the  sense  of  power.  Every- 
where and  at  all  times  could  Casimir  Delavigne's  song  be  heard  in 
the  air.     It  was  the  rumbling  of  the  volcano. 

The  rising  planned  by  the  schemers  broke  out  prematurely  at 
St.  Pierre  on  February  9,  at  seven  in  the  evening.  It  began  by  the 
setting  fire  to  eleven  sugar  plantations  and  to  certain  prominent 
houses  outside  the  town.  In  a  moment  St.  Pierre  was  in  an 
uproar.  The  streets  were  alive  with  troops,  both  horse  and  foot, 
hurrying  to  the  suburbs  ;  with  them  were  the  gendarmes  and  such 
white  men  as  happened  to  be  in  the  city  at  the  time  and  could 
carry  arms.  Sailors  who  had  been  landed  from  the  various  ships 
in  the  harbour  came  running  up  the  narrow  lanes  at  the  double, 
cutlasses  in  hand.  The  alarm  bell  was  ringing  in  the  cathedral 
tower.  Shops  were  shut  and  houses  barricaded,  while  women 
rushed  to  and  fro  terrified  by  the  cry  "  The  negroes  are  coming !  " 
Now  and  then  a  rider  would  gallop  along  the  street  with  news  of 
fresh  horrors  creeping  upon  the  town.  The  glare  of  fire  was 
in  the  sky  while,  far  away  above  the  hubbub  and  clatter,  the 
refrain  of  Delavigne's  song  rose  up  from  a  thousand  exulting 
throats. 

The  would-be  heroes  of  Martinique  were  soon  overcome.  By 
5  A.M.  next  morning  the  great  revolution  was  over.     Five  hundred 


THE   SONG   OF   CASIMIR   DELAVIGNE.         135 

arrests  were  made  and  out  of  the  number  taken  twenty-two  were 
condemned  to  death.  The  last  phase  of  the  sorry  story  is  well 
described  by  Breen  who  was  an  eye-witness  of  it  all. 

"  On  May  19,  the  day  appointed  for  the  execution,  the  town  of 
St.  Pierre  presented  one  of  the  most  melancholy  and  heartrending 
spectacles  ever  exhibited  in  any  country.  Twenty-two  human 
beings,  having  each  a  rope  round  his  neck,  were  marched  forth 
from  the  prison,  near  the  Batterie  Decnotz,  escorted  by  soldiers, 
priests  and  policemen  to  the  Place  Bertin,  where  a  gibbet  sixty 
feet  long  had  been  erected  for  their  execution.  Several  were 
foaming  at  the  mouth,  and  by  their  gestures,  language  and  looks 
manifested  the  working  of  the  evil  passions  within.  But  the 
greater  number  appeared  resigned  to  their  fate,  and  were  atten- 
tively listening  to  the  exhortation  of  the  clergy. 

"  The  Place  and  every  avenue  leading  to  it  were  thronged  with 
mounted  gendarmes  and  troops  of  the  line.  On  reaching  the  foot 
of  the  gallows  the  agitation  of  the  wretched  culprits  assumed  a 
frightful  degree  of  intensity.  The  spell  was  now  broken ;  the 
veil  of  delusion  torn  from  their  eyes  ;  all  their  visions  of  glory  had 
vanished  ;  all  their  dreams  of  power  and  preponderance  had 
dissolved,  and  nothing  remained  but  the  startling,  shadowless 
reality  of  an  ignominious  death. 

"  The  most  remarkable  actor  in  this  tragic  scene  was  a  coloured 
man  named  Ch^ry,  who  had  been  the  chief  promoter  of  the 
insurrection.  At  the  sight  of  the  gibbet  he  gave  himself  up  to 
the  wildest  despair,  vomiting  forth  imprecations,  both  loud  and 
deep,  against  the  white  inhabitants,  and  expressing  his  fervent 
hope  '  that  the  island  of  Martinique  might  be  swallowed  up  in 
the  ocean  before  another  generation  should  pass  away.'  He  had 
just  commenced  '  En  avant  marchons '  when  the  bourreau,  shaking 
him  by  the  rope  that  dangled  on  his  back,  said,  pointing  to  the 
gallows,  '  Voil^  votre  chemin  ! '  Chery  grinned  and  gnashed  his 
teeth  ;  then  tossing  off  his  shoes  in  the  air  (one  of  which  struck  a 
gendarme  with  great  violence  on  the  face)  he  ran  up  the  ladder  to 
the  head  of  the  gallows,  and  in  a  few  seconds  was  seen  hanging 
without  a  struggle  or  a  sigh. 


136  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

"  The  others  were  then  thrown  off  in  succession,  until  the  whole 
twenty-two  were  left  hanging  together  at  equal  distances  from 
each  other.  In  an  hour  after  the  bodies  were  cut  down,  and  a 
long  and  lowering  day  closed  on  this  lugubrious  spectacle,  just  as 
the  twenty-two  corpses,  the  destined  food  of  sharks,  were  dropped 
into  the  sea  at  some  distance  from  the  beach."  ^ 

Thus,  with  the  setting  of  the  sun,  there  came  an  end  to  the 
song  of  Casimir  Delavigne. 

^  Hiitory  of  St.  Lucia,  page  175, 


XXVI. 

MARTINIQUE. 

Twenty  miles  north  of  St.  Lucia  is  the  French  island  of 
Martinique.  It  can  be  seen  from  the  heights  above  Castries 
whenever  the  sky  is  clear,  a  pillar  of  cloud  resting  on  the  sea, 
silver-grey  at  noon,  lilac  at  sunset. 

Columbus  landed  here  one  day  in  June  1502.  It  was  a  spot 
he  was  curious  about,  for  he  had  heard  of  it  on  a  previous  voyage 
as  the  island  of  Matinino,  where  all  the  inhabitants  were  women. 
It  was  a  strange  legend,  with  some  element  of  prophecy  in  it,  for 
the  Martinique  of  to-day  is  famous,  above  all,  as  the  home  of 
comely  women.  The  men  of  the  place  are  of  no  particular  dis- 
tinction, certainly  of  no  interest — mere  West  Indian  negroes  and 
mulattoes.  The  women,  on  the  other  hand,  are,  as  an  American 
writer  expresses  it,  "  a  race  apart." 

Like  others  of  the  volcanic  isles  Martinique  is  green  and 
rugged — green  with  vast  jungles,  rugged  with  a  thousand  hills. 
"  Although  less  than  fifty  miles  in  length  and  less  than  twenty  in 
average  breadth,  there  are  upwards  of  four  hundred  mountains  in 
the  little  island,  or  of  what  at  least  might  be  termed  mountains 
elsewhere.  These  again  are  divided  and  interpeaked,  and  bear 
hillocks  on  their  slopes."  ^ 

This  island  of  "  indescribable  glory  "  is  so  fascinating  that  to 
those  who  know  it  best  it  is  Le  Pays  des  Revenants — The 
Country  of  the  Comers-back.  Martinique  was  colonised  by  the 
French  in  1635,  and  although  it  was  for  many  years  a  shuttle- 
cock of  war,  and  although  the  British  seized  it  on  four  separate 

'  Two  Years  in  the  French  West  Indus,  by  Lafcadio  iiearn,  page  256  :  New 
York,  1890. 


138  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

occasions,  and  indeed  held  it  once  for  a  period  of  six  years,  it 
has  remained  French  to  the  backbone — as  P'rench  as  the  town  of 
Blois. 

Fort  de  France,  the  capital,  lies  on  a  plain  at  the  foot  of  low 
hills.  From  the  bay  there  is  little  to  be  seen  of  it  but  a  jumble 
of  red  roofs  and  palm  trees,  above  which  rises  the  spire  of  the 
cathedral.  To  the  south  of  the  town  is  an  immense  grey  fort 
whose  surly  walls  stand  half  in  the  water  and  half  on  land,  an 
amphibious  place  already  mouldy  and  rusty  from  neglect.  This 
is  the  Fort  St.  Louis,  which  plays  no  small  part  in  the  annals  of 
the  British  navy.  On  a  height  behind  the  town  is  a  still  larger 
and  dingier  fort,  the  Fort  Bourbon.  It  sulks  there,  black  and 
forbidding,  coiled  up  like  a  colossal  snake  that  had  been  driven 
out  of  the  gay-coloured  town.  It  was  from  the  harbour  of  Fort 
de  France  (then  Fort  Royal  Bay)  that  Count  de  Grasse  sailed 
with  his  fleet  to  meet  Rodney  on  the  glorious  12th  of  April,  1782. 

Fort  de  France,  a  prosperous  place  of  17,000  inhabitants,  will 
occasion  some  surprise  to  the  visitor  who  is  acquainted  only  with 
the  British  possessions  in  these  seas.  Landing  from  a  rowing- 
boat  at  a  small  pier  on  the  fringe  of  the  city  he  will  find  himself 
suddenly,  in  spite  of  palms  and  sand-box  trees,  in  France  and  in 
the  streets  of  a  French  country  town.  The  chief  street,  Rue  Saint- 
Louis,  is  typical  of  the  place.  Here  are  brightly  painted  houses 
with  green  jalousies  and  iron  balconies,  houses  let  in  flats  where 
women  chat  for  ever  out  of  windows,  familiar  French  shops,  the 
"  Bazar  Parisien,"  the  "  grand  cafe "  with  its  small  tables,  the 
restaurant  with  madame,  fat  and  busy,  sitting  at  a  high  desk. 
The  very  names  of  the  streets  are  written  in  white  letters  on  those 
plaques  of  blue  enamelled  iron  which  mark  every  Paris  street 
corner.  On  any  spare  wall  are  the  gaudy  advertisements  of  the 
French  provinces — the  persistent  aperitif,  the  marvellous  hair  wash, 
the  unanatomical  gloves  and  shoes,  the  everlasting  chocolat, 

Happy  is  he  who  reaches  Fort  de  France  for  the  first  time  on 
a  Sunday.  The  streets  are  then  thronged  by  a  moving  company 
as  brilliant  in  colour  as  are  the  idlers  at  the  foot  of  the  Shwe 
Dagon  Pagoda  in  Burmah.     The  crowd  is  composed   mostly  of 


MARTINIQUE.  139 

women.  They  present  every  tint  of  skin  from  white  to  ebony. 
Here  are  the  heavy-featured  but  smiling  negress,  the  girl  with  the 
"  sapota  "  skin,  the  girl  with  cheeks  of  cinnamon  or  chocolate,  the 
nut-brown  maid,  the  matron  with  the  skin  of  a  fawn,  the  stately 
woman  whose  complexion  has  the  sunny  tint  of  an  ear  of  ripe 
corn.  The  fairest  of  all  is  the  fille  de  couleur,  the  darker  are  the 
quadroon  and  octoroon,  the  metisse,  the  chabine  of  Martinique. 
"  A  population  fantastic,  astonishing — a  population  of  the  Arabian 
Nights."  ^  Some  of  these  women  are  remarkably  beautiful,  tall, 
lissome,  and  statuesque,  with  rounded  limbs,  perfectly  moulded 
necks  and  a  fine  carriage  of  the  head.  They  walk  erect  with 
swaying  hips,  lithe  and  languorous,  graciously,  yet  with  just  some 
suggestion  of  coquettishness.  Here  is  a  portetise,  a.  half-clad 
figure  of  bronze  perfect  in  its  modelling  ;  and  here  are  two  girls 
holding  baskets  on  their  heads  who  are  veritable  Caryatides. 
Many  have  sad,  regretful -looking  eyes,  many  a  mien  of  gentle 
dignity,  others  a  bearing  that  is  quite  imperious. 

There  are  few  who  are  not  bare-footed,  and  the  rustle  of  their 
feet  on  the  dry  road  is  a  sound  the  most  enticing  that  human 
steps  can  make.  It  has  its  very  opposite  in  the  mechanical  tramp 
of  drilled  men,  and  its  complement  in  the  clatter  of  Japanese  clogs 
in  a  temple  close.  "  Soundless  as  shadow,"  writes  Hearn,  "  is  the 
motion  of  all  these  naked-footed  people.  On  any  quiet  mountain 
way,  full  of  curves,  where  you  fancy  yourself  alone,  you  may  often 
be  startled  by  something  you /eel,  rather  than  hear,  behind  you, — 
surd  steps,  the  springy  movement  of  a  long  lithe  body,  dumb 
oscillations  of  raiment, — and  ere  you  can  turn  to  look,  the 
haunter  swiftly  passes  with  Creole  greeting  of  '  bon-jou '  or 
'  bonsoue,  missie.' " 

Their  costumes  mimic  the  daring  colours  of  the  tropical  bird. 
A  few  of  the  womenfolk  wear  a  long,  trailing  dress,  the  doutVleUe, 
made  in  one  piece  from  neck  to  foot ;  others  a  robe,  over  a  white 
petticoat,  a  linen  bodice  and  a  foulard,  or  silk  kerchief,  across  the 
shoulders.  The  head-dress  is  very  picturesque.  It  consists 
of  a  "  madras,"  an  ample  silk  handkerchief  wound  about  the  head 

'   Two  Years  in  ike  French  West  Indies,  by  Lafcadio  Hearn:  New  York,  1890. 


I40  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

turban-fashion,  and  finished  off  by  a  projecting  end,  which  stands 
up  like  the  eagle's  feather  in  an  Indian's  hair.  The  colour  of  the 
madras  will  be  usually  a  canary-yellow  or  yellow  striped  with 
black.  The  hues  of  the  dresses  are  bewildering.  Here  are  a  skirt 
of  roses  and  a  foulard  of  sky-blue,  a  gown  of  scarlet  and  yellow 
with  a  terra-cotta  scarf  across  the  breast,  a  dress  of  white  striped 
with  orange  below  a  foulard  of  green,  a  frock  of  primrose  spotted 
with  red  and  completed  by  a  scarf  of  mazarine  blue.  Add  to  this 
the  necklace  of  gold  beads,  the  heavy  bracelets,  the  great  earrings, 
and  the  "  trembling  pins "  that  fix  the  madras ;  and  then  realise, 
over  all,  the  white  light  of  a  tropical  noon. 

Most  of  the  women  have  come  from  the  fast-emptying  cathe- 
dral, bringing  with  them  the  odour  of  incense.  Among  the  crowd 
are  a  few  Europeans  dressed  in  the  costumes  of  Paris,  and  looking 
stiff  and  out  of  place.  In  the  street  also  are  dapper  French 
soldiers  and  officials  in  white  uniforms,  gnarled  country  women 
with  broad-brimmed  hats,  and  a  number  of  bronze  men  with 
naked  chests,  most  of  whom  are  bareheaded  or  are  decked  with 
a  hat  ostentatiously  shapeless. 

The  crowd  makes  way  for  the  nuns  and  their  queue  of  school- 
girls, as  they  pass  along  the  streets  from  the  cathedral  to  the 
convent.  The  sombre  robes  of  the  nuns  and  their  dead-white 
wimples  contrast  severely  with  the  sensuous  colours  around  them. 
The  girls  are  all  mulattoes,  whose  pretty  brown  faces  are 
surmounted  by  turbans  of  royal  purple.  Their  dresses  are  of  one 
pattern,  blue  with  white  spots,  very  simple  and  demure. 

One  thing  assuredly  the  French  have  taught  the  golden  brown 
maiden  of  Martinique,  and  that  is,  how  to  dress  with  justice  to  her 
good  looks  and  credit  to  her  stately  figure.  Very  striking  is  the 
comparison  between  these  statuesque  women  and  the  "coloured 
lady  "  of  Barbados,  who  has  learnt  to  make  herself  ridiculous  by 
a  travesty  of  the  fashions  of  London. 

Even  more  bewildering  in  colour  than  the  streets  is  the  market- 
place, where  are  stalls  covered  with  surprising  fish,  blue,  green, 
scarlet,  and  gold,  piles  of  brown  fruits,  heaps  of  yellow  bananas, 
unfamiliar  vegetables  of  unfamiliar  shades  of  green,  as  well  as 
a  mound  of  silk  scarves  like  a  crumpled-up  rainbow. 


MARTINIQUE.  141 

The  cathedral  is  such  an  one  as  rises  above  the  roofs  of  a 
hundred  French  towns.  It  is  just  as  weather-worn  without  and 
as  tawdry  within,  while  from  its  steeple  floats  the  same  jangling 
chime  of  small-voiced  bells.  In  an  enclosure  behind  the  church 
is  the  white  figure  of  the  Virgin  from  St.  Pierre  which  miraculously 
escaped  the  cyclone  of  flame  by  which  that  town  was  overwhelmed. 

Just  outside  the  city  is  an  unkempt,  uncared-for  common, 
dignified  by  the  name  of  La  Place  de  la  Savane.  It  is  meant  to 
be  a  park,  but  it  is  no  more  than  a  piece  of  open  ground  where 
the  loafer  can  sleep  and  where  the  children  have  worn  away  the 
grass  in  untidy  patches.  It  boasts  a  meagre  band-stand,  such  as 
a  provincial  townlet  might  set  up  in  a  moment  of  ambition,  and 
then  forget  and  leave — as  this  is  left — bare  even  of  paint. 

In  the  centre  of  this  Ishmaelitish  waste,  guarded  by  a  clump 
of  palms,  is  a  very  unexpected  object — a  white  marble  statue  of  a 
woman,  an  imperious  woman,  the  Empress  Josephine.  She  was 
born  on  the  island  at  Trois  Ilets,  a  village  which  lies  hidden  away 
in  one  of  the  many  green  creeks  of  Fort  de  France  Bay.  The 
charm  of  this  tall,  pale  figure  is  irresistible.  She  is  in  the  costume 
of  the  Empire,  with  bare  neck  and  arms.  On  the  cushion  of  her 
pretty  hair  rests  a  crown.  Her  left  hand  leans  upon  a  medallion 
of  Napoleon.  She  is  raised  aloft,  against  the  blue  sky,  on  a  classic 
pedestal  of  white  stone.  The  finding  of  this  superb  lady  of  courts 
and  palaces,  the  chatelaine  of  Malmaison,  on  a  poor  patch  of  out- 
cast land  by  a  West  Indian  town  is  beyond  words  surprising. 
Her  face  is  plaintive  and  tender,  gracious  and  infinitely  womanly. 
"  Over  violet  space  of  summer  sea,  through  the  vast  splendour  of 
azure  light,  she  is  looking  back  to  the  place  of  her  birth,  back 
to  beautiful  drowsy  Trois  Ilets,  and  always  with  the  same  half- 
dreaming,  half-plaintive  smile — unutterably  touching."  ^ 

Josephine  was  the  eldest  daughter  of  Joseph  de  La  Pagerie, 
a  lieutenant  of  artillery,  who  a  few  months  after  his  marriage  had 
helped  to  defend  the  island  from  an  attack  of  the  British  in  17O2 
La  Pagerie  owned  a  plantation  near  the  hamlet  of  Trois  Ilets,  and 
in  the  mansion  upon  the  estate  Josephine  was  born  on  June  23, 
1763.     She  was  educated  at  a  convent  at  Fort  de  P'rance    (then 

'Two  Years  in  the  French  West  Indus,  by  Lafcadio  Hearn,  page  66  :  New  York,  1890, 


142  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

Fort  Royal),  leaving  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  by  which  time  she  had 
learnt  little  more  from  the  "  Dames  de  la  Providence  "  than  how 
to  dance,  to  sing  and  to  embroider. 

Of  the  house  in  which  Josephine  was  born  nothing  now  remains 
except  a  fragment  of  the  kitchen,  for  the  building  was  totally 
destroyed  by  the  fearful  hurricane  of  1766.  The  hurricane  brought 
ruin  upon  the  family  as  well  as  upon  the  house.  The  mansion 
was  never  rebuilt,  and  the  planter,  his  wife  and  children,  took  up 
their  abode  in  the  sucrerie.  This  structure  is  still  in  existence, 
a  low,  shed-like  building  of  stone,  with  dormer  windows  in  the 
roof  and  a  tall  chimney  at  one  end  of  it.  Such  is  the  only  home 
that  Josephine  can  have  known  at  Trois  Ilets.  It  is  a  remarkable 
contrast  to  the  stately  house  at  Malmaison  with  its  many-mirrored 
salons,  its  exquisite  gardens  and  pleasances.  It  was  at  Malmaison, 
it  will  be  remembered,  that  the  deserted  Empress  died. 

She  left  Martinique  in  1779,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  to  marry  a 
son  of  the  Marquis  de  Beauharnais,  the  one-time  governor  of  the 
island.  She  landed  at  Havre.  After  her  separation  from  her 
husband  Josephine  returned  to  Trois  Ilets.  This  was  in  1788,  when 
she  was  twenty- five.  She  stayed  in  the  island  two  years,  when 
she  joined  Beauharnais  again  and  remained  with  him  until  his 
execution,  at  the  time  of  the  Terror,  in  1794.  After  his  death  she 
was  reduced  to  great  straits  for  money,  living  with  her  two  children 
in  a  very  humble  house  in  Paris.  The  story  need  not  be  retold  of 
her  meeting  with  Napoleon,  or  how  it  came  about  that  she  married 
him  in  1799.  He  was  then  a  man  of  thirty  and  she  a  woman 
of  thirty-six.  He  writes  to  her  as  his  "dear  little  wife,"  and  is 
always  wondering  "  what  is  the  secret  of  her  influence." 

She  must  have  been  a  woman  of  remarkable  fascination, 
clever  and  the  mistress  of  consummate  tact.  Conspicuous  among 
her  many  fine  traits  are  her  tenderness  and  warm-hearted 
amiability.  As  Napoleon  said,  "  She  had  no  more  sense  of  resent- 
ment than  a  pigeon."  One  most  womanly  quality — a  love  of 
pretty  clothes — possessed  her  to  the  very  end  of  her  days,  for 
Madame  de  R^musat  has  said  that  "  she  died  covered  with  ribbons 
and  pale  rose  satin." 


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MARTINIQUE 

\Ariththe  exception  of  Mont  Pele 

the  mountainpus  features  of  the 

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Channel 


Pige6ni.pf  3  St.  Lucia 


Lon^mde  West  of  Greenwich  61 


XXVII. 

•*  NO   FLINT  "   GREY   AND   THE   STONE   SHIP. 

As  the  steamer  sails  into  Fort  de  France  Bay  there  will  be 
noticed,  just  off  the  southern  point  of  the  harbour,  a  minute  island 
lying  close  to  the  shore.  This  is  Ilet  a  Ramiers,  or  the  Wood 
Pigeons'  Island.  It  is  very  insignificant,  being  only  about  zoo  feet 
high  and  300  feet  in  circumference  at  the  summit,  yet  it  played  a 
remarkable  part  in  some  of  the  hardest  fighting  that  Fort  de 
France  ^  ever  saw. 

It  was  in  February  1794  that  the  trouble  began,  and,  of  course, 
the  British  were  at  the  bottom  of  it.  General  Grey  had  come, 
in  fact,  to  Martinique  to  capture  it,  bringing  with  him  nineteen 
ships  and  7000  soldiers.  Now  the  first  thing  that  stood  in  his 
way  was  this  very  Wood  Pigeons'  Island.  Its  name  is  decep- 
tive ;  for  it  was  equipped  by  the  French  with  no  less  than  twenty- 
two  heavy  guns,  its  stores  of  ammunition  were  abundant,  and, 
above  all,  it  was  furnished  with  the  necessary  appliances  for  heat- 
ing shot.  So  long  as  little  Ramiers  was  capable  of  firing  twenty- 
two  cannon  balls  at  a  time,  whether  red-hot  or  not,  it  was  im- 
possible for  any  ship  to  enter  the  harbour.  Grey  did  not  wish  to 
leave  his  nineteen  vessels  out  in  the  open,  and  as  he  could  not 
creep  in  by  the  north  shore  on  account  of  Fort  St.  Louis  he  deter- 
mined that  the  battery  on  Ilet  a  Ramiers  must  cease  to  be. 

He  landed  a  force,  far  away  on  the  south  of  the  island,  at 
three  points,  Marin,  Trois  Rivieres  and  Pointe  Bourgos.  He  then 
marched  to  the  headland  overlooking  Pigeon  Island,  fighting  as  he 
went.  If  it  be  remembered  that  Martinique  was  then  little  more 
than  a  heap  of  hills  and  pathless  forest,  this  was  no  small  achieve- 

»  Then  called  Fort  Royal. 


144  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

ment.  He  occupied  a  morne  some  400  yards  from  the  island. 
To  the  summit  of  this  height  he  dragged  his  guns  after  two  days 
of  prodigious  labour.  He  then  had  I  let  a  Ramiers  in  the  hollow 
of  his  hand.  He  bombarded  it  until  he  silenced  it,  whereupon  the 
British  fleet  crept  into  the  harbour  by  the  southern  shore,  out  of 
reach  of  the  guns  of  St.  Louis.     (See  Map.) 

So  far  this  was  well,  but  to  gain  possession  of  Martinique  it 
was  necessary  that  Grey  should  capture  St.  Pierre  and  take  the 
Forts  Bourbon  and  St.  Louis.  To  effect  these  ends  another  force 
was  landed  on  the  east  coast  at  Gallon  Bay.  Here  it  broke  up 
into  two  detachments.  One  party  made  for  Morne  Bruneau,  a  hill 
commanding  Fort  Bourbon  ;  the  other  started  for  St.  Pierre.  This 
march  of  the  English  upon  St.  Pierre  was  probably  the  most  re- 
markable feat  ever  accomplished  in  any  West  Indian  campaign. 
The  troops  went  by  the  coast  to  the  Capot  River,  then  turning 
westwards  they  climbed  up  4000  feet  to  the  pass  of  La  Calebasse, 
hard  by  the  very  crater  of  Mont  Pel6.  Thence  they  descended  to 
St.  Pierre  and  took  that  cheerful  town  without  resistance.  This 
famous  march  was  astounding  in  many  ways.  It  was  made 
through  an  unknown  country  under  a  tropical  sun.  The  invaders 
had  to  find  their  way  across  miles  of  jungle,  had  to  clamber  up 
precipitous  hills  and  crawl  down  into  black  ravines.  Every  fort 
and  redoubt  they  came  upon  they  had  to  take,  and  did  take. 

The  method  of  their  fighting  was  as  astonishing  as  the 
obstinacy  of  their  advance.  They  were  armed,  of  course,  with 
flint  lock  muskets.  Now  General  Grey  had  a  prejudice  against 
the  firing  of  guns  by  soldiers.  He  considered  the  proceeding 
slow,  wasteful  and  noisy,  and,  when  employed  to  fight  men  who 
were  ensconced  behind  earthworks  or  fort  walls,  a  measure  far  from 
satisfactory.  He  believed  in  the  bayonet,  in  the  eighteen  inches 
of  cold  steel.  Shouting  and  volley  firing  were  very  effective  on 
the  parade  ground,  but  for  actual  fighting  his  faith  was  in  clenched 
teeth  and  a  blade  of  good  old  Sheffield  steel.  Before  commencing 
any  march,  therefore,  the  General's  first  care  was  to  remove  the 
flints  from  his  men's  muskets  so  that  they  advanced  into  a  hostile 
country  armed  only  with  bayonets.     When  an  outpost  was  reached 


"NO   FLINT"   GREY   AND   THE    STONE   SHIP.  145 

there  were  two  courses  open  to  Grey's  soldier,  either  to  stand  still 
and  be  shot  down  or  to  rush  the  slope  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet 
and  so  get  the  business  over.  Thus  it  was  that  this  redoubtable 
general  received  the  nickname  of  "  No  flint  "  Grey. 

The  French  regarded  "  No  flint "  Grey  and  his  men  with 
unfeigned  dislike.  This  new  British  mode  of  attacking  a  fortified 
place  was  nothing  less  than  hideous.  The  Frenchman,  peeping 
out  from  behind  a  gabion,  was  rather  inspired  by  the  sound  of 
firearms.  There  was  the  noise  of  battle  to  cheer  him  as  well  as 
a  cloud  of  smoke  to  hide  much  that  he  had  no  great  desire  to  see. 
Moreover,  to  make  an  assault  under  musket  fire  effective,  it  must 
be  carried  out  in  the  daylight.  The  attack  at  the  point  of  the 
bayonet  by  "  No  flint "  Grey  was  by  choice  undertaken  at  night. 

Such  an  assault  was  awful  to  contemplate.  It  meant  invisible 
me  1  creeping  up  to  trenches  in  the  dark  and  in  silence.  The 
defender  of  the  redoubt  would  have  a  fearful  sense  of  something 
advancing  through  the  gloom,  something  gliding  towards  him  like 
a  black  mist.  He  would  wish  to  fire  off  his  piece  or  to  shout, 
merely  to  break  the  benumbing  silence.  Then  would  come  the 
rustle  of  unseen  bushes,  the  snapping  of  a  twig,  the  crunch  of  a 
nailed  boot  on  a  stone,  sounds  a  thousand  times  more  terrifying 
than  the  rattle  of  a  hundred  muskets.  He  knew  that  the  next 
moment  would  be  heard  the  rushing  of  feet,  and  the  pump-like 
sough  of  panting  breath  ;  then  a  claw  of  a  hand  would  grip  the 
parapet  of  earth,  gleaming  eyes  would  rise  out  of  the  mirk,  and 
finally  a  great  and  awful  figure  would  spring  up  with  a  death-cold 
bayonet  and  a  half-muttered  English  oath.  It  is  little  to  be 
wondered  if  the  Martinique  soldier  thought  he  could  better  face 
the  devil  than  "  No  flint  "  Grey. 

In  the  memorable  march  to  St.  Pierre  many  entrenched 
positions  were  taken  in  this  fashion.  The  very  last  redoubt  to  be 
stormed  was  rushed  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  at  an  hour 
when  the  courage  of  a  man  who  watches  is  apt  to  be  at  its 
chilliest.  It  is  needless  to  tell  how  Fort  Bourbon  and  Fort  St. 
Louis  were  taken,  or  how  the  island  passed  into  the  possession  of 
the  British.     The  account  of  this  daring  and  splendid  feat  of  arms 

L 


146  THE   CRADLE    OF   THE    DEEP. 

has  been  vividly  described  by  Fortescue  in  his  "  History  of  the 
British  Army."  ^ 

It  is  only  necessary  to  devote  one  word  to  the  fall  of  the  great 
fortress  of  St.  Louis.  This  fort,  as  has  been  already  mentioned, 
juts  out  into  the  sea.  The  taking  of  it,  therefore,  was  a  matter 
for  the  fleet  to  handle.  If  the  orthodox  procedure  had  been 
followed,  the  men-of-war  would  have  approached  the  works  near 
enough  to  have  bombarded  them.  During  the  manceuvre  they 
would  themselves  have  formed  easy  targets  for  the  gunners  on  the 
seaward  bastion.  The  spirit  of  "  No  flint "  Grey  had,  however, 
taken  hold  of  the  sailor-men.  They  recognised  that  the 
regulation  method  of  dealing  with  the  fort  would  be  tedious  and 
unexciting. 

So  Captain  Faulkner,  with  no  more  ado,  put  all  sail  upon  his 
ship  the  Zebra,  and  making  full  tilt  for  the  fort  and  its  line  of 
cannon,  ran  his  vessel  aground  against  the  very  walls  of  the 
battery.  Boats  and  men  were  ready  for  the  escalade,  so  while  the 
unhappy  Zebra  heeled  over  as  if  in  a  swoon,  the  captain  and  his 
crew  tumbled  over  the  side  and  in  a  few  minutes  they  were 
swarming  up  the  sea-wall  of  the  fort,  hanging  on  to  any  gaps 
between  the  stones,  or  to  any  tufts  of  weed,  using  their  comrades' 
shoulders  as  a  mounting  step  until  they  could  climb  in  through 
the  gun  embrasures.  They  carried  with  them  cutlasses  and 
boarding  pikes,  but  the  Frenchmen,  liking  these  weapons  no 
better  than  the  bayonet,  threw  down  their  arms  and  watched  with 
mingled  feelings  the  unfurling  of  the  British  flag  above  the  fort. 

There  is  one  other  spot  in  Martinique  which  is  so  full  of  brave 
memories  that  it  can  never  be  passed  by  a  Briton  without  a 
tribute  of  pride  to  the  sailors  of  bygone  days.  Off  the  south-west 
corner  of  the  island  is  an  uninviting  rock  called  in  the  charts 
Diamant  Rock.  It  is  bare  and  smooth  like  a  bent  knuckle.  Its 
weather-stained  sides  are  grey,  shaded  with  pink.  It  is 
inaccessible  except  at  a  small  spot  on  the  west  side.  That  any 
living  thing  but  a  seabird  could  reach  its  summit — which  is 
574  feet  above  the  water-level — would  seem  improbable. 

•  Vol.  iv. 


"NO   FLINT"   GREY   AND   THE   STONE   SHIP.   147 

Now  in  1803,  when  Admiral  Hood  was  doing  battle  with  the 
French  in  these  parts,  he  found  that  the  enemy's  ships  were 
constantly  escaping  from  him  through  the  Fours  channel  which 
lies  between  this  rock  and  Diamant  Point.  So  he  laid  his 
seventy-four,  the  Centaur,  alongside  the  pyramid  of  stone  for  the 
purpose  of  placing  a  battery  on  its  summit.  It  seemed  a  mad 
scheme  enough.  But  his  men  clambered  somehow  to  the  top  of 
the  rock,  dragging  ropes  and  tackles  with  them.  These  they 
dangled  over  the  precipice  down  to  the  Centauf's  deck.  In  the 
course  of  time  a  gun,  swinging  in  the  air  like  a  dead  minnow  on 
a  line,  was  being  hauled  up  the  sheer  wall.  Other  cannon 
followed,  by  the  same  aerial  route,  until  at  last  on  the  top  there 
was  a  battery  composed  of  three  long  twenty-fours  and  two 
eighteens.  It  would  have  been  little  surprise  to  the  islanders  if 
these  men,  who  looked  like  ants  on  a  boulder,  had  pulled  up  the 
Centaur  herself  after  the  guns. 

One  hundred  and  twenty  men  and  boys  were  landed,  under 
the  command  of  Lieutenant  James  Maurice,  to  garrison  the  fort. 
The  boys,  it  may  be  imagined,  had  the  best  time  of  their  lives. 
James  Maurice  made  creditable  use  of  his  exalted  position.  He 
swept  the  sea  with  his  cannon  and  did  a  woeful  deal  of  damage, 
as  the  French  were  compelled  to  allow.  His  rock  was  entered  in 
the  Admiralty  books  as  "  H.M.  Ship,  Diamond  Rock."  For 
sixteen  weeks  he  held  the  post  to  the  joy  of  his  comrades.  The 
old  admiral  had  a  face  as  keen  and  fierce  as  an  east  wind,  but 
whenever  he  looked  towards  the  Fours  channel  a  very  generous 
smile  must  have  swept  over  his  tough  features. 

At  last  his  Majesty's  ship  "  Diamond  Rock "  had  to  haul 
down  her  flag  for  the  very  good  reason  that  the  powder  was 
exhausted  and  the  water-tanks  dry.  Even  when  reduced  to  this 
discouraging  plight  the  rock  dwellers  did  not  yield  meekly,  for 
at  the  very  last  it  took  two  French  seventy-fours,  a  frigate,  a 
corvette,  a  schooner,  and  eleven  gunboats  to  bring  them  to 
surrender.  The  commandant  of  the  stone  ship,  when  he  handed 
his  sword  to  the  French  captain,  may  well  have  apologised  for  all 
the  trouble  he  had  given. 

La 


148  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE    DEEP. 


XXVHI. 

THE   CITY   THAT   WAS. 

St.  Pierre,  the  debonair,  the  adored  city  of  Martinique,  was 
swept  off  the  earth  by  the  fearful  eruption  of  Mont  Pele  in  the 
month  of  May  1902.  The  chronicles  of  the  town,  as  well  as  the 
many  views  of  it  which  survive,  make  it  evident  that  St.  Pierre 
was  one  of  the  most  delectable  abodes  of  men  in  the  West  Indies. 
It  stood  in  a  blue  bay,  along  a  beach  bent  like  a  bow,  with  green 
hills  behind  it  and  the  towering  mass  of  the  awful  mountain  on 
its  northern  side. 

There  was  one  man  at  least  for  whom  the  ill-fated  city  had 
an  irresistible  fascination — Lafcadio  Hearn — for  he  writes  of  it  as 
one  under  a  spell.  To  him  it  was  ever  "  the  quaint,  whimsical, 
wonderfully  coloured  little  town  .  .  .  the  sweetest,  queerest, 
darlingest  little  city  in  the  Antilles."  ^  No  description  of  the 
place  can  be  more  vivid,  more  affectionate  than  that  given  by  his 
pen.  This  is  his  account  of  the  Grande  Rue,  the  Rue  Victor 
Hugo,  and  of  the  town  generally  : 

"  A  bright,  long,  narrow  street  rising  towards  a  far  mass  of 
glowing  green.  Not  a  street  of  this  age,  but  of  the  seventeenth 
century  ;  a  street  of  yellow  facades,  with  yellow  garden  walls 
between  the  facades.  In  sharp  bursts  of  blue  light  the  sea 
appears  at  intervals — blue  light  blazing  up  old,  old  flights  of 
mossy  steps  descending  to  the  bay.  And  through  these  openings 
ships  are  visible,  far  below,  riding  in  azure. 

"  Walls  are  lemon  colour ;  quaint  balconies  and  lattices  are 
green.     Palm  trees  rise  from  courts  and  gardens  into  the  warm 

*  Life  and  Letten  of  Lafcadio  Heanty  vol.  i.  pages  413  and  415  :  LondoD,  1906. 


THE   CITY   THAT    WAS.  149 

blue  sky,  indescribably  blue,  that  appears  almost  to  touch  the 
feathery  heads  of  them.  And  all  things  within  or  without  the 
yellow  vista  are  steeped  in  a  sunshine  electrically  white,  in  a 
radiance  so  powerful  that  it  lends  even  to  the  pavements  of  basalt 
the  glitter  of  silver  ore."  ^ 

"  Everywhere  rushes  mountain  water — cool  and  crystal-clear, 
washing  the  streets  ; — from  time  to  time  you  come  to  some  public 
fountain  flinging  a  silvery  column  to  the  sun,  or  showering  bright 
spray  over  a  group  of  black  bronze  tritons  or  bronze  swans.  The 
Tritons  on  the  Place  Bertin  you  will  not  readily  forget ;  their 
curving  torsos  might  have  been  modelled  from  the  forms  of  those 
ebon  men  who  toil  there  tirelessly  all  day  in  the  great  heat, 
rolling  hogsheads  of  sugar  or  casks  of  rum.  And  often  you  will 
note,  in  the  course  of  a  walk,  little  drinking-fountains  contrived 
in  the  angle  of  a  building,  or  in  the  thick  walls  bordering  the 
bulwarks  or  enclosing  public  squares  ;  glittering  threads  of  water 
spurting  through  lion-lips  of  stone. 

"  Seen  from  the  bay  the  little  red-white-and-yellow  city  forms 
but  one  multi-coloured  streak  against  the  burning  green  of  the  lofty 
island.  There  is  no  naked  soil,  no  bare  rock ;  the  chains  of  the 
mountains,  rising  by  successive  ridges  towards  the  interior,  are 
still  covered  with  forests."  ^ 

The  town — as  may  be  gathered — was  built  on  rising  tiers, 
mounting  up  the  hillside.  The  higher  quarters  were  reached  by 
steep  flights  of  steps,  such  as  one  sees  in  many  an  old  Italian  sea- 
town.  These  stone  stairs  did  not  lack  for  pretty  names.  One 
still  to  be  found  among  the  ruins  was  known  as  La  Rue  Monte- 
au-Ciel.  The  streets  were  narrow  because  shade  is  comfortable. 
They  were  well  paved  and  trim.  Besides  the  substantial  and 
imposing  cathedral  there  were  other  churches  in  the  town,  a 
bishop's  palace,  a  convent,  great  military  barracks,  fine  public 
buildings,  and  certain  ancient  forts.  On  the  banks  of  the  Roxe- 
lane  river,  with  its  many  bridges,  and  in  the  suburbs  beyond  were 
bright  painted  villas  and  dainty  gardens. 

'  Life  and  Letters  of  Lafcadio  LLearn,  vol.  i.  page  lOO. 

*  Two  Years  in  the  French  West  Lndies,  pages  37  and  52  :  New  York,  189a 


150  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE    DEEP. 

The  town  had  been  famous  for  its  Jardin  des  Plantes ;  it 
supported  a  large  theatre  and  other  places  of  amusement.  Its 
chief  joy,  however,  was  the  Place  Bertin — an  open  promenade  by 
the  sea — where  were  the  fountains  Hearn  describes,  and  where  the 
gandins  loved  to  disport  themselves  on  high  days  and  holidays. 
There  was  also  the  mouillage — the  landing-place — where,  from 
under  the  shade  of  trees,  the  idler  could  watch  the  rolling  to  and 
fro  of  casks,  the  hauling  of  ropes,  and  the  unloading  of  ships. 
The  city  was  prosperous  and  well  esteemed,  bustling  with  life, 
rippling  with  gaiety.  It  may  be  that  it  was  a  little  prone  to 
pleasure,  and  that  it  did  not  strive  tediously  after  a  high  reputation 
for  morality.  If  this  be  true,  the  same  has  been  said  of  the  gay 
and  careless  town  of  Pompeii. 

The  population  numbered  about  20,000,  and  the  women  of 
St.  Pierre,  while  they  were  of  the  same  engaging  types  as  their 
sisters  of  Fort  de  France,  are  reputed  to  have  excelled  even  them 
in  handsome  looks. 

It  was  on  May  8  that  the  town  was  destroyed.  For  many 
days  before  that  date  the  great  mountain  had  been  showing  signs 
of  angry  uneasiness.  Strange  clouds  of  cauliflower  shape  rose  out 
of  the  crater.  Terrible  cannonadings  were  to  be  heard,  while 
upon  the  city  there  drifted,  from  time  to  time,  a  haze  of  fine  ash 
borne  along  by  a  hot  and  suffocating  wind.  On  May  5  an 
avalanche  of  boiling  mud,  many  acres  wide,  tumbled  down  from 
the  volcano,  and  went  roaring  along  the  bed  of  the  Riviere 
Blanche  at  the  rate  of  a  mile  a  minute.  A  large  sugar  factory 
was  engulphed  and  some  150  lives  lost.  The  torrent  poured  into 
the  sea,  throwing  up  fountains  of  steam,  as  if  a  lake  of  molten  iron 
had  been  emptied  into  the  deep. 

The  final  cataclysm  that  struck  the  city  with  utter  desolation 
took  place  at  7.52  on  the  morning  of  Thursday,  May  8.  It  was 
witnessed  by  a  cable-ship  lying  some  miles  out  at  sea,  and  by 
people  who  lived  upon  such  neighbouring  hills  as  were  beyond  the 
range  of  the  destroying  force. ^ 

'  An  excellent  account  of  the  catastrophe  will  be  found  in  Mont  Peli  and  tht  Tragedy 
of  Martiniqtte,  by  Angelo  Heilprin  :  Philadelphia,  1903. 


THE   CITY    THAT    WAS.  151 

Suddenly,  without  warning  of  any  kind,  the  summit  of  the 
mountain  seemed  to  open,  and  from  the  lurid  rent  there  burst 
a  violet-grey  cloud,  the  forepart  of  which  was  luminous  and 
brilliant.  It  was  shot  from  the  torn  crater  as  a  charge  from 
a  cannon.  It  struck  the  town  with  terrific  force,  and  then  spread 
out  over  the  sea  and  the  hills.  Loud  detonations  were  heard. 
The  flames  in  the  cloud,  as  it  swept  along,  were  whirled  into 
eddies  and  twisted  into  spirals. 

In  a  moment  the  whole  of  St.  Pierre  was  ablaze  from  a 
thousand  points.  In  another  moment  everything — the  city,  the 
near  hills,  the  bay — was  blotted  out  by  an  impenetrable  black 
cloud  of  smoke  and  ash,  which  veiled  the  sun  and  hid  the  awful 
deed  under  the  darkness  of  night. 

Thus  in  a  few  seconds  was  a  town  swept  off  the  face  of  the 
earth,  and  30,000  people  left  charred  and  dead. 

The  force  of  the  destructive  blast  must  have  been  prodigious. 
Whole  streets  of  houses  were  mown  down  by  the  flaming  scythe. 
Walls  three  to  four  feet  in  thickness  were  blown  away  by  the 
furnace  blast  like  things  of  lath,  while  massive  machinery  was 
crumpled  up  as  if  it  had  been  gripped  and  crushed  by  a  titanic 
hand.  The  town  was  raked  by  a  veritable  tornado  of  fire,  by 
a  hurricane  of  incandescent  dust  and  of  super-heated  vapour.  It 
came  down  upon  the  ships  in  the  harbour  like  a  breaking  wave, 
striking  the  Roddam  broadside  with  such  violence  as  to  nearly 
capsize  her.  The  bodies  of  all  those  who  were  found  among  the  ruins 
were  bare  of  clothing,  the  garments  having  been  simultaneously 
charred  and  blown  away  by  the  withering  wind. 

The  area  of  total  destruction  of  life  was  about  eight  square 
miles,  but  outside  this  was  an  extensive  district  known  as  the 
"singed  zone."  Out  of  the  eighteen  ships  in  the  harbour  one 
alone  escaped — the  Roddam  (page  1 27).  She  had  only  come  in 
at  7  A.M.  on  that  very  morning,  and  had  fortunately  been  ordered 
to  the  quarantine  station  some  distance  off. 

The  only  human  being  spared  the  universal  holocaust  was 
a  prisoner  in  the  dungeon  of  the  city  jail,  a  negro  named  Auguste 
Ciparis.     The  dungeon — still  to  be  seen— is  on  that  side  of  the 


152  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE    DEEP. 

prison  which  is  away  from  La  Pelee.  It  was  sheltered  by  a  high 
wall  and  had  itself  a  domed  roof  of  stone  and  plaster.  There  was  a 
heavy  door  to  the  small  building  but  no  window.  An  iron  grating, 
some  two  feet  above  the  door,  alone  admitted  light  and  air  to  the 
cell.  The  account  that  Ciparis  gave  of  his  unparalleled  experiences 
is  told  by  Heilprin  in  the  following  words  :  ^ 

"  He  was  waiting  for  his  usual  breakfast  on  the  8th,  when  it 
suddenly  grew  dark,  and  immediately  afterwards  hot  air,  laden 
with  ash,  entered  his  room  through  the  door-grating.  It  came 
gently  but  fiercely.  His  flesh  was  instantly  burned,  and  he  jumped 
about  in  agony,  vainly  calling  for  help.  The  heat  that  scorched 
him  was  intense,  but  lasted  for  an  instant  only,  and  during  that 
time  he  almost  ceased  to  breathe.  There  was  no  accompanying 
smoke,  no  noise  of  any  kind,  and  no  odour  to  suggest  a  burning 
gas.  Ciparis  was  clad  at  the  time  in  hat,  shirt  and  trousers,  but 
his  clothing  did  not  take  fire ;  yet  beneath  his  shirt  the  back  was 
terribly  burned.  .  .  .  For  three  days  and  more  he  was  without 
food  of  any  kind,  and  his  only  sustaining  nourishment  was  the 
water  of  his  cell."  It  was  not  until  Sunday,  the  nth,  that  he  was 
liberated,  his  cries  for  help  having  been  heard  by  two  negroes  who 
were  hunting  about  among  the  ruins. 

The  state  of  the  city  immediately  after  the  catastrophe  can  be 
well  conceived  from  the  numerous  photographs  taken  at  the  time, 
and  from  the  descriptions  of  those  who  were  the  first  to  enter  the 
mangled  streets.  In  the  place  of  the  busy,  pleasure-loving  town 
was  a  silent  desert  of  stones  and  dust.  Tier  above  tier  the  ruins 
mounted  up  to  the  scorched  hills.  The  land  around  had  been 
swept  bare  of  everj^thing  that  was  green,  for  the  whole  mountain 
side — once  as  bright  as  a  robe  of  many  colours — had  been  shrivelled 
to  one  desolate  tint  of  cinder-grey.  The  streets  were  blocked  up 
with  stones  and  stucco,  burnt  timbers,  scattered  tiles,  fragments  of 
iron  railings,  tree  trunks  turned  to  coal,  and  dead  charred  bodies 
lying,  for  the  most  part,  face  downwards.  Over  all  was  a  soft  veil 
of  volcanic  dust. 

The   cobble-stoned  quay   had  been  swept  clean  by  the  tide. 

'  Heilprin,  lee.  cit.  page  117. 


THE   CITY   THAT   WAS.  153 

Those  who  first  landed  there  found  only  a  bare  skull  and  a  bundle 
of  white  ribs  lying  by  the  side  of  a  ship's  steel  hawser  in  its  ring. 
One  writer,  who  came  to  St.  Pierre  towards  the  end  of  May, 
expresses  the  state  of  ruin  by  saying,  "  We  seemed  to  be  wandering 
through  a  city  that  had  been  blown  from  the  mouth  of  a  cannon, 
and  not  one  that  had  been  destroyed  by  any  force  of  nature."  ^ 
All  this  desolation,  be  it  remembered,  was  the  work  of  a  few 
minutes. 

Many  buildings  left  erect  after  the  visitation  of  May  8  were 
demolished  by  a  second  eruption  of  Mont  Pele,  which  took  place 
on  May  20  at  5.15  A.M.  This  second  outbreak  was  even  more 
violent  than  the  first.  It  happily  involved  no  loss  of  life,  but  it 
completed  the  wreck  of  the  city,  leaving  it  as  it  is  found  to  this 
day. 

'  Heilprin,  page  25. 


154  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 


XXIX. 

THE   LAST   NIGHT   IN   ST.   PIERRE. 

When  visiting  St.  Pierre  I  found  among  the  ruins  of  a  small 
house  on  the  seaward  side  of  Rue  Victor  Hugo  a  very  homely 
object,  buried  under  much  dust  and  miscellaneous  debris — a  bed- 
room candlestick.  It  was  of  enamelled  iron,  white,  and  lacking 
in  all  pretension. 

One  may  imagine  (and  there  is  none  living  to  gainsay  the 
conceit)  that  it  belonged  to  some  fille  de  coulcur,  some  'ti  Marie 
whose  madras  and  shoulder  scarf  once  helped  to  make  bright  the 
streets  of  St.  Pierre.  It  may  be  supposed  that  the  candle  was 
lit  early  on  the  night  of  May  7,  for  it  would  be  dark  by  seven, 
and  the  electric  light  upon  which  the  town  depended  had  failed. 

Marie — it  would  be  safe  to  guess — has  lost  her  buoyant  gaiety. 
There  is  something  solemn  and  portentous  in  the  air.  She  opens 
the  casement  and  looks  out  into  the  street.  All  the  laughter  and 
sparkle  seem  to  have  left  the  debonair  city.  It  is  strangely  silent. 
To-morrow  is  a  holiday,  the  fete  of  the  Ascension,  and  the  Grande 
Rue  should  be  thronged  at  this  time  of  the  evening.  The  whole 
roadway  is  covered  deep  in  dust.  A  light  streaming  from  an 
open  doorway  shows  that  it  has  the  colour  of  ashes.  The  carriages 
that  pass  by  move  without  noise.  The  sound  of  the  horses'  feet 
is  as  if  they  trod  upon  turf  An  old  country  waggon  crawls 
along  with  a  cheerful  creaking  of  its  unsteady  wheels,  a  noise  that 
breaks  pleasantly  upon  the  silence.  Many  of  the  chief  shops  have 
for  days  been  closed  to  customers,  as  is  announced  in  Les  Colonies, 
the  daily  paper  of  St.  Pierre.  There  are  lights  in  the  cabarets,  but 
the  men  who  sit  there  are  very  quiet,  the  sound  of  their  feet  on 


THE   LAST    NIGHT    IN    ST.    PIERRE.  155 

the  ash-covered  floor  is  harsh,  and  the  rings  of  beer  left  by  their 
mugs  on  the  white  tables  are  turned  into  rings  of  mud. 

Suddenly  there  comes  a  hideous  rumbling  sound  that  makes 
a  score  of  people  rush  out  into  the  road.  The  plates  in  the  kitchen 
rattle,  and  as  'ti  Marie  looks  back  into  her  room  she  sees  that  the 
china  image  of  the  Virgin  is  rocking  on  its  shelf.  A  puff  of  hot 
suffocating  wind  blows  down  the  narrow  way.  It  brings  with 
it  a  smell  of  sulphur  so  pungent  that  the  girl  holds  her  handker- 
chief to  her  mouth.  It  sweeps  the  ashes  from  the  roofs  and 
awnings  in  gusts,  so  that  men  passing  by  turn  up  coat  collars, 
while  women  draw  their  scarves  over  their  heads. 

Ashes  still  are  falling ;  some  are  large  enough  to  make  a  patter 
on  the  balcony  roofs.  The  dust  covers  everything,  the  girl's  arms 
and  hair,  her  neck,  the  sill  upon  which  she  leans.  The  candle, 
powdered  with  fine  ash,  splutters  and  burns  feebly.  One  thing 
that  makes  the  watcher  at  the  window  uneasy  is  the  spectacle  of 
people  moving  out  of  the  town,  on  their  way  to  the  Fort  de  France 
road.  They  carry  with  them  boxes  and  bundles.  The  quiet  light 
in  'ti  Marie's  room  seems  to  chide  them  for  leaving  their  homes, 
and  those  who  know  her  look  up  at  the  window  and  bid  her  "  bon 
soir  " — a  last  good  night. 

The  night  of  May  7  was  suffocating  and  intensely  hot.  This 
we  know  from  the  diary  of  a  M.  Roux  who  left  St.  Pierre 
at  5  P.M.  on  the  7th  and  spent  the  night  on  a  distant  hill,  from 
which  point  he  witnessed  next  morning  the  destruction  of  the 
city. 

It  may  be  imagined  that  Marie  slept  little  and  that  the  candle 
was  kept  burning  all  night.  Early  in  the  evening  she  would  have 
heard  a  steamer  leaving  the  harbour,  would  have  noticed  the 
sound  of  the  bell  on  the  bridge,  the  shouts  of  the  men  and  the 
rattle  of  the  anchor  chain  coming  in  through  the  hawse  pipe. 
This  was  the  Italian  ship  Orsolina.  The  captain  knew  Naples, 
"  knew  what  Vesuvius  was,  but  felt  that  La  Pelce  was  much  that 
Vesuvius  was  not."  ^  So,  although  he  had  only  half  his  cargo  on 
board    and   although  the   agents  swore,    protested,  stamped  and 

'  Heilprin. 


iS6  THE   CRADLE    OF   THE   DEEP. 

threatened,  he  hauled  up  his  anchor  and,  with  a  sigh  of  reh'ef, 
sought  his  way  into  the  open  sea. 

At  daybreak  next  morning  any  who  were  awake  would  have 
heard  a  steamer  come  in,  whistle  cheerfully  and  drop  her  anchor, 
with  the  noisy  satisfaction  of  having  reached  her  port  with  "  all  well." 
This  was  a  steamer  of  the  Quebec  line,  the  Roraima.  In  less  than 
two  hours  she  was  charred  and  gutted  and  burnt  to  the  water's 
edge. 

Possibly  during  this  fevered,  stifling  night  'ti  Marie  may 
have  consoled  herself  by  reading  the  local  newspaper  published 
that  morning.^  It  contained  much  information  about  volcanoes 
that  the  reader  may  have  skipped,  but  she  would  have  gained 
great  comfort  and  assurance  from  this  editorial  utterance  :  "  La 
Montagne  Pelee  n'offre  pas  plus  de  danger  pour  les  habitants  de 
St.-Pierre  que  le  Vesuve  pour  ceux  de  Naples."  The  editor, 
moreover,  in  discussing  the  exodus  from  the  city,  remarks  with 
some  disdain  :  "  Nous  avouons  ne  rien  comprendre  a  cette  panique. 
Ou  peut-on  etre  mieux  qu'a  St.-Pierre  ? "  Where  could  one  be 
better  than  at  St.  Pierre  ! 

Possibly  'ti  Marie  fell  asleep  towards  the  morning,  after  the 
candle  had  long  burned  down.  She  would  be  awakened  at  eight 
by  a  sound  as  of  the  bursting  of  a  mine.  The  outer  sun-shutter 
that  closed  the  window  would,  untouched,  release  itself  from  its 
fastenings  and  swing  open.  A  savage  blast  of  flame  would  dart 
in,  and  in  a  second  the  soft,  palpitating  body  of  the  little  maid 
would  be  a  curled  up  thing  of  damp  ash. 

One  other  relic  of  the  last  days  of  St.  Pierre  in  my  possession 
is  a  silver  watch.  I  obtained  it  from  a  man  at  Fort  de  France 
who,  when  visiting  the  ruins,  had  found  it  under  the  corpse  of  a 
man  in  one  of  the  side  streets.  The  outer  case  of  the  watch  has 
been  turned  to  a  leaden  black  colour.  The  silver  has  been  so 
melted  by  the  heat  that  the  pattern  engraved  upon  the  back  is 
smeared  out  as  if  with  a  red-hot  thumb.  The  glass  is,  of  course, 
cracked  and  is  partly  fused  to  the  white  enamel  of  the  face,  yet  it 
is  still  possible  to  read  the  time — 8.22. 

*  A  reproduction  of  La  Colonies  for  May  7  is  giveu  in  Heilprin's  book,  page  68. 


THE   LAST   NIGHT    IN   ST.    PIERRE.  157 

The  exact  moment  of  the  destruction  of  the  city  was  7.52  a.m., 
as  shown  by  the  clock  left  standing  over  the  military  hospital. 
The  awful  suddenness  with  which  the  blow  fell  can  best  be  judged 
from  the  following  incident.  At  a  moment  corresponding  to  the 
above  time  a  message  came  over  the  wire  from  St.  Pierre  to  Fort 
de  France.  It  consisted  of  one  single  word  "  Allez  " — a  remarkable 
utterance  in  view  of  what  happened.  It  was  the  last  word  ever 
spoken  by  the  city.  It  is  said  to  have  embodied  the  request  that 
a  message  then  in  transit  to  St.  Pierre  should  be  completed. 
Almost  by  the  time  that  the  clipped  sentence  reached  Fort  de 
France  the  office,  the  instrument,  the  operator,  the  very  wires  were 
a  mass  of  cinders. 

The  owner  of  the  watch  may  have  been  preparing  to  start  for 
the  cathedral,  dressed  in  his  best,  when  the  heavens  were  rent  by 
the  crack  of  doom.  Rushing  into  the  street,  he  would  have  been 
met  by  a  scud  of  furnace-hot  dust,  by  a  red  blizzard  of  glowing 
ash.  He  would  be  struck  down  by  the  sulphurous  hurricane,  and 
hurled  along  the  road  together  with  fragments  of  falling  houses, 
flying  tiles  and  stones,  window  shutters  and  balcony  railings.  His 
clothes  would  be  stripped  from  his  back  as  if  they  were  made  of 
dust,  and  he  would  lie  among  the  cinders  bare,  a  charred  image 
of  a  man. 

If  the  watch  were  sentient  it  would  have  felt  the  death- 
discerning  flutter  of  the  heart  and  then  the  stopping  of  its  beat. 
Protected  by  the  smouldering  body,  the  watch  must  have  ticked 
against  the  now  impassive  ribs  for  some  thirty  minutes,  until  the 
heat  had  reached  its  own  heart  and  stopped  that  too. 


iS8       THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP 


XXX. 

THE   SHADOW   OF   THE   MOUNTAIN. 

It  was  in  February  1907 — ^just  four  years  and  nine  months  after 
the  great  disaster — that  I  visited  St.  Pierre. 

We  steamed  into  the  roadstead  from  Fort  de  France,  and 
anchored  as  near  the  shore  as  the  sunken  shipping  would  allow. 
On  entering  the  wide  bay  on  which  the  city  stood,  the  only 
impression  is  one  of  utter  desolation.  Dominating  the  whole 
district  is  the  awful  mountain  La  Pelee.  It  is  well  named  "  The 
Bald,"  for,  with  the  exception  of  the  verdure  on  its  southern  side, 
it  is,  as  seen  from  the  sea,  nothing  more  than  a  gigantic  cinder 
heap.  The  height  of  Mont  Pel6  is  4428  feet.^  It  is  a  volcano  of 
immense  girth,  since  it  occupies  practically  the  northern  end  of 
the  island.  Enormous  tentacles,  in  the  form  of  harsh  ridges,  reach 
down  to  the  Atlantic  on  the  one  side,  and  to  the  Caribbean  Sea 
on  the  other. 

St.  Pierre  is  at  the  very  foot  of  the  volcano,  lying  nearer  to  it 
by  a  mile  than  Pompeii  did  to  Vesuvius.  The  rim  of  the  crater 
is  hidden  in  a  cloud  of  smoke  and  mist.  The  slopes  of  the 
mountain  are  a  ghastly  fawn  colour,  streaked  with  grey  and 
sinister  tints  of  brown.  They  are  slopes  of  mud  relieved  only 
by  drifts  of  ash  and  hurled  out  rocks.  When  the  sun  is  setting, 
the  long  shadows  cast  by  the  lower  peaks  across  the  cinder 
wastes  are  like  the  shadows  that  fall  from  the  craters  in  the  moon. 
Here  and  there  are  valleys  of  lilac  or  indigo  blue,  but  their  walls 
are  burnt  and  bare  so  that  they  are  mere  echoing  chines,  terrible 
in  their  emptiness  and  loneliness.  Torrents  of  rain  have  gouged 
gutters  down  the  glissade  of  mud,  while,  at  certain  points,  crests  of 

'  The  height  of  Vesuvius  is  3948  feet,  of  Etna  9652  feet. 


THE  SHADOW   OF   THE   MOUNTAIN.  159 

rock  and  rib-like  buttresses  stand  out,  as  if  the  skeleton  of  the 
mountain  were  protruding  through  its  shrunken  flanks. 

On  the  quarter  nearest  to  the  sea  and  to  the  town  is  an 
immense  mud  torrent,  which  has  been  suddenly  struck  motionless 
and  solid.  On  the  steeper  heights  it  takes  the  form  of  a  glacier  of 
mud,  carrying  along  a  doleful  moraine  of  impacted  stones.  Below 
it  opens  out  like  a  fan  into  a  full  flood,  contorted  by  intertwining 
streams,  with  here  a  motionless  eddy,  and  there  a  whirlpool 
changed  into  a  cone-shaped  pit.  In  the  impassive  depths  of  this 
Slough  of  Despond  lie  the  bones  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  men 
and  women.  One  who  saw  the  hideous  mountain  just  after  the 
cataclysm  of  May  describes  it  well  when  he  writes,  "  Mont  Pele  is 
bleeding  with  black  mud."  ^ 

Along  the  whole  stretch  of  the  bay  there  is  not  a  living  figure 
to  be  seen,  not  one  sign  of  human  life,  not  even  a  poor  hut,  nor 
grazing  cattle.  Over  the  site  of  the  town,  as  seen  from  afar,  there 
appears  to  lie  a  shadow  that  no  sun  can  disperse — the  shadow  of 
the  mountain.  Along  the  beach,  where  the  town  stood,  there  is 
merely  a  stain  in  the  green,  a  coarse  smudge  left  by  the  hand  that 
swept  the  city  out  of  existence. 

The  quay  of  cobble  stones  upon  which  one  lands  would  seem 
to  be  but  little  altered,  save  for  the  heaps  of  cinder  dust  and  the 
growth  of  weeds.  There  are  still  the  bollards  and  iron  rings  for 
mooring  ships  as  well  as  the  little  landing-places.  Along  the 
whole  sea  front  is  a  line  of  pale  ruins,  roofless  houses  of  stone  with 
empty  doors  and  windows,  and  a  look  of  age  so  extreme  that  they 
may  have  been  desolate  a  century  or  more. 

A  generous  growth  of  jungle  has  spread  over  the  place  in  these 
last  five  years.  Rank  bushes  and  even  small  trees  make  quite 
a  thicket  along  some  of  the  less-traversed  ways.  A  considerable 
part  of  the  Rue  Victor  Hugo  has  been  cleared  of  debris,  leaving 
the  trim  road,  the  side  paths  and  the  rain  gulleys  precisely  as  they 
were  on  the  morning  of  May  8.  The  houses  are  mere  shells  filled 
with  tumbled  stones,  charred  timbers,  and  dust.  Looked  down 
upon  from  a  height  the  main  street  appears  to  run  between  two 

'  Ileilpria. 


i6o  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

rows  of  stone  sheep  pens.  Over  some  of  the  houses  luxuriant  ' 
creepers  have  spread,  while  long  grass,  ferns  and  forest  flowers 
have  filled  up  many  a  court  and  modest  lane.  It  is  easy  to  see 
that  in  a  few  more  years  the  poor  dead  town,  with  all  its  hideous 
scars  and  horrors  of  deformity,  will  be  hidden  beneath  a  kindly 
covering  of  leaves. 

The  walls  of  the  cathedral  are  standing,  and  suffice  to  show 
that  it  was  a  building  of  some  stateliness.  The  wide  nave  is 
blocked  with  a  heap  of  masonry  and  a  clump  of  bushes.  The 
stone  stairs  that  led  up  to  the  higher  levels  of  the  town  now  lead 
to  nothingness.  The  forlornness  of  the  place  is  beyond  descrip- 
tion. Here  the  railings  of  a  balcony  will  still  be  hanging  to 
a  wall,  although  the  windows  that  opened  on  to  it  are  gone.  Here 
are  the  long  iron  hinges  of  a  door  still  in  place,  with  the  lock 
holding  to  its  socket  as  it  did  when  the  key  was  last  turned  by 
a  living  hand,  but  all  the  woodwork  has  crumbled  into  dust. 

The  idlest  grubbing  among  the  ruins  reveals  many  relics  of  the 
life  of  the  place.  Thus  I  came  across  numerous  bones,  bleached 
as  white  as  the  bones  in  a  museum.  In  the  centre  of  one  house 
was  an  iron  bedstead  with  the  metal  springs  of  its  mattress.  In 
another  place  there  had  evidently  been  an  ironmonger's  shop,  for 
a  disturbance  of  the  dust  brought  to  light  a  number  of  fish-hooks, 
a  flat-iron,  some  padlocks,  and  many  metal  spoons.  In  one  spot 
there  would  have  been  a  draper's  store,  because  under  the  stones 
I  came  upon  an  orderly  bundle  of  black  neck-ties,  such  as  the 
provincial  Frenchman  loves  to  wear  in  a  flowing  bow  on  Sundays. 
They  were  intact,  and  seem  to  have  suffered  only  from  the 
damp.  The  curious  manner  in  which  some  fragile  things  escape 
destruction  has  been  noticed  by  all  who  have  visited  the  ruins. 
Heilprin  found  packets  of  starch  quite  uninjured,  as  well  as 
bundles  of  clay  pipes  and  corked  bottles  with  their  contents 
unimpaired.  Most  of  the  glass  found  has  been  fused  into  strange 
shapes.  I  have  a  small  drinking  tumbler,  the  foot  of  which  is 
unaltered,  but  the  rim  has  been  melted  as  if  the  cup  were  of  wax. 

Two  things  above  all  will  impress  any  one  who  likes  to  recall 
the  city  as  it  was — the  lack  of  all  colour,  the  absence  of  all  sound. 


THE   SHADOW   OF   THE   MOUNTAIN.  i6i 

It  was  on  a  Sunday  evening,  at  the  time  of  the  setting  of  the 
sun,  that  our  ship  steamed  away  from  this  Bay  of  Desolation. 
Five  years  ago  it  would  have  been  the  gayest  hour  of  the  day. 
Under  the  shadow  of  the  tamarind  trees  along  the  Place  Bert  in 
would  be  moving  dots  of  scarlet  and  white,  of  primrose  and  blue, 
the  dresses  of  smiling  women  who  had  come  to  the  water's  edge 
to  see  the  steamer  go  away.  The  vesper  bell  would  be  ringing 
from  the  cathedral  tower,  while  from  the  paths  that  zigzagged 
down  the  hill  may  have  been  borne  the  far-off  laughter  of  folk 
returning  to  their  homes.  In  its  place  was  this  silent  Massacre 
Ghat,  this  city  of  ghosts,  this  heap  of  calcined  bones. 

The  town  faces  westwards,  so  as  we  steamed  away  the  level 
rays  of  the  sinking  sun  fell  upon  the  poor  dead  walls,  poured 
through  the  sightless  windows,  and  threw  long  shadows  of  fantastic 
shape  across  the  dumb  white  street.  Just  for  a  moment  before 
the  sun  vanished  a  roseate  hue  spread  over  the  gaunt  city.  Those 
who  viewed  it  shuddered  as  would  they  who  saw  a  flush  of  life 
creeping  over  a  skull.  It  seemed  as  if — ere  the  night  fell — the 
warm  tint  of  life  had  come  back  to  the  life- loving  town,  and  as  if, 
across  its  withered  face,  there  passed  for  a  moment  the  happy 
blush  of  things  remembered. 


M 


i62  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 


XXXI. 

DOMINICA. 

The  next  stage  of  the  journey  is  to  Dominica,  some  thirty 
miles  to  the  north.  The  steamer  passes  by  the  foot  of  Mont  Pel^ 
close  to  the  broken-off  cliffs  of  mud  piled  up  by  the  last  eruption. 
Further  on  is  the  ancient  village  of  Au  Precheur,  upon  whose 
small  life  has  fallen  the  silence  of  the  mountain's  shadow.  The 
little  place  has  been  buried  in  a  torrent  of  volcanic  mud,  so  that 
only  the  tower  of  the  stone  church  stands  up  above  the  drift 

Beyond  Au  Precheur,  at  a  place  called  Aux  Abymes,  the  cliffs 
become  very  lofty,  sheer  and  black.  They  rise  straight  from  the 
depths,  for  close  to  them  will  be  found  some  thirty  fathoms  of 
water.  It  was  under  the  shadow  of  these  cliffs  that  the  Con- 
federate cruiser  Alabama  hid  herself  "as  a  fish  hides  in  the  shadow 
of  a  rock,"  and  so  escaped  from  her  pursuer  the  Iroquois. 

The  Alabama  had  long  been  blockaded  in  the  harbour  of  St. 
Pierre  by  the  Northern  man-of-war.  The  Iroquois  could  see  her, 
but  was  unable  to  touch  her  so  long  as  she  remained  in  French 
waters.  The  Alabama  resolved  at  last  to  make  a  run  for  it.  One 
dark  night,  with  all  her  lights  masked,  she  crept  out  of  St.  Pierre 
and  steered  for  the  south.  Unfortunately  there  were  other  Yankee 
ships  in  the  harbour,  and  one  of  these  shot  a  rocket  southwards  as 
a  signal  to  the  Iroquois  that  their  quarry  had  escaped  and  had 
gone  in  that  direction.  The  Iroquois  gave  chase.  The  Alabama 
kept  close  to  the  shore  as  far  as  Carbet,  a  thing  invisible.  Here 
she  doubled  like  a  hare,  and  making  north,  passed  by  St.  Pierre 
again.  The  Yankee  ship  in  the  harbour — with  what  sporting 
men  would  consider  the  basest  meanness — fired  a  rocket,  this  time 
northwards.     The  Iroquois  turned  and  followed  with  all  speed. 


DOMINICA.  163 

The  hunted  ship  now  crawled  in  close  to  the  dark  cliffs  at  Aux 
Abymes,  and  here  she  crouched  in  a  disquieted  suspense.  The 
men  crept  about  the  deck  on  tiptoe  and  talked  only  in  whispers. 
There  was  no  sound  but  the  splash  of  the  sea  against  the  cliff  wall 
and  the  thud  of  the  pursuing  man-of-war.  The  Iroquois  drew 
nearer  and  nearer.  The  men  on  the  Alabama^  motionless  as 
statues  and  almost  fearing  to  breathe,  watched  her  with  the 
interest  of  despair.  She  came  abreast  of  them.  "  Was  she 
slackening  speed  ? "  "  No."  She  blundered  by,  tearing  away 
fiercely  to  the  north.  The  Alabama  waited  until  she  was  out  of 
hearing  and  then  escaped  by  the  Dominica  Channel,  her  crew 
chuckling  with  laughter. 

If  Francis  Drake  had  been  on  board  the  Alabama  he  would 
have  looked  in  at  St.  Pierre  before  he  left  and  sunk  the  mean  ship 
with  the  rockets. 

They  say,  they  who  know  the  islands,  that  Dominica  is  the 
most  beautiful  of  all  the  Lesser  Antilles,  and  in  that  they  say  well. 
As  seen  in  the  early  morning  it  may  be  described  in  words  that 
Lafcadio  Hearn  applies  to  another  island  :  "  K  beautiful,  fantastic 
shape  floats  to  us  through  the  morning  light ;  first  cloudy  gold 
like  the  horizon,  then  pearly  gray,  then  varying  blue,  with  growing 
green  lights  ;  Dominica."  ' 

Like  the  neighbouring  Antilles  it  is  very  mountainous,  pre- 
senting on  every  side  to  the  sea  a  front  bold  and  magnificent. 
Its  loftiest  peak,  the  Morne  Diablotin,  reaches  to  the  height  of 
nearly  5000  feet.  Its  valleys  are  valleys  of  enchantment,  made 
musical  by  the  sound  of  a  hundred  streams.  A  vast  forest  covers 
it  from  crown  to  foot,  for  it  is  green  to  the  very  water's  edge, 
while  its  topmost  trees  mount  up  into  the  clouds. 

It  is  a  worshipful  place  ;  "  a  tabernacle  for  the  sun  "  ;  a  shrine 
of  a  thousand  spires,  rising  tier  above  tier,  in  one  exquisite  fabric 
of  green,  purple  and  grey.  The  sea  that  lies  at  its  feet  is  blue 
beyond  comparison,  a  deep  gentian  blue.  The  same  tint  colours 
the  haze  that  fills  the  inland  gorges,  as  if  the  mist  were  but  the 
blue  sea  vapourised. 

'   Two  Years  in  the  French  West  Indies^  P^^ge  92. 

M  2 


i64  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

Columbus  made  Dominica  his  landfall  in  the  second  voyage. 
Leaving  Cadiz  on  September  25,  1493,  and  touching  only  at  the 
Canaries  on  the  way,  he  reached  Dominica  on  November  3  of  that 
year.  His  men  were  becoming  alarmed  at  being  so  long  out  of 
sight  of  land,  so,  on  November  2,  Columbus  recklessly  assured 
them  that  they  would  see  land  on  the  morrow,  and  as  night  fell 
ordered  sail  to  be  shortened.  When  the  next  morning  dawned 
they  were  off  the  most  beautiful  island  they  had  ever  seen.  It 
was  Sunday,  and  so  the  spot  came  to  be  named  Dominica. 

Columbus  did  not  land,  but  having  cruised  round  the  coast, 
proceeded  to  an  island  lying  north-east.  Here  he  anchored  and, 
going  ashore  with  much  solemnity,  took  possession  of  such  lands 
as  were  in  view.  The  island  thus  honoured  was  uninhabited.  He 
named  it  Marie  Galante,  after  the  ship  in  which  he  was  sailing, 
and  such  is  its  name  to  this  day. 

Dominica,  beautiful  as  it  is,  did  not  attract  the  early  emigrant. 
It  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  held  by  Caribs  of  exceptional  fierceness, 
who  would  have  no  dealings  with  visitors  except  to  eat  them. 
Davies,  writing  in  1666,  has  no  more  to  say  of  Dominica  but  that 
it  was  a  wilderness  "  inhabited  by  hordes  of  hostile  savages,  who 
dwell  among  horrid  and  unnatural  scenery,  infested  by  an  infinite 
number  of  reptiles  of  a  dreadful  bulk  and  length." 

The  Caribs  had  a  particular  objection  to  armed  men.  When 
that  jovial  priest  and  bon  vivanty  Pere  Labat,  visited  the  island  at 
the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century  he  found  the  natives  quite 
agreeable  and  placid.  He  tried  to  make  Christians  of  them,  and 
found  that  "  they  were  willing  to  be  baptised  as  often  as  he  liked 
for  a  glass  of  brandy."  ^ 

Every  attempt,  however,  to  make  a  regular  settlement  in  the 
island  failed ;  so  in  1748,  as  the  place  was  of  no  use  to  either 
England  or  France,  it  was,  with  noble  self-denial  on  both  sides, 
declared  to  be  neutral  and  handed  over  to  its  rightful  owners,  the 
Caribs.  The  wild  man  of  Dominica  had  up  to  this  time  defied 
the  European  with  success  for  just  255  years.  A  little  later  the 
French,  with  much  patience  and  courage,  colonised  the  uneasy 

'  Froude,  The  English  in  the  West  Indies. 


DOMINICA.  165 

country  ;  whereupon,  of  course,  the  British  wanted  it  and  seized  it. 
The  French  retook  it,  and  in  this  way  Dominica  became  another 
pawn  on  the  great  West  Indian  chess-board. 

Dominica  was  a  favourite  place  of  call  for  the  distressed  sea 
rover  of  early  days.  Both  Hawkins  and  Drake  found  the  island 
a  convenient  spot  for  "refreshing."  Here  also  rested  in  I597 
George,  Earl  of  Cumberland,  M.A.  of  Cambridge  and  pirate.  He 
was  on  his  way  to  San  Juan,  where  he  accomplished  great  deeds. 

Roseau,  the  chief  town  of  Dominica,  is  a  makeshift  and  untidy 
place,  full,  however,  of  ancient  and  most  picturesque  wooden 
houses,  with  shingle  roofs,  quaint  porches  and  haphazard  balconies. 
It  shows  the  signs  of  progress  and  prosperity,  for  Dominica  does 
a  busy  trade  in  both  limes  and  cacao.  Owing  in  great  measure  to 
the  skilful  administration  of  Dr.  H.  A.  Nicholls,  C.M.G.,  who  has 
devoted  his  life  to  the  island,  the  colony  is  very  healthy,  having 
the  remarkably  low  death  rate  of  sixteen  per  thousand.  There  has 
been  no  case  of  yellow  fever  in  Dominica  for  over  seventy  years, 
and  malaria  is  being  slowly  eliminated.  The  mean  temperature 
for  the  year  is  799°,  while  the  annual  rainfall  at  Roseau  is  about 
75  inches. 

There  are  two  admirable  features  in  the  town  which  the  visitor 
will  at  once  appreciate  :  an  excellent  Free  Library,  with  a  good 
collection  of  books  on  the  West  Indies ;  and  the  Botanic  Gardens, 
which — thanks  to  the  genius  of  Mr.  Jones,  the  curator — are  with- 
out a  rival  in  this  part  of  the  world.  Not  only  is  the  collection  of 
tropical  plants  remarkable  but  every  exhibit  is  clearly  labelled, 
so  that  what  is  seen  can  be  "  understanded  of  the  people."  The 
Imperial  Department  of  Agriculture  has  here  a  school  for  the  sons 
of  peasant  proprietors  and  others,  where  instruction  is  given  in  the 
principles  and  practice  of  the  craft. 

Roseau  possesses  a  Roman  Catholic  cathedral  of  some  pre- 
tension, but  very  French,  and  an  English  church  of  less  ambition, 
but  very  English.  There  are  many  memorials  on  the  walls  of  the 
latter,  most  of  them  so  diffuse  and  eulogistic  as  to  recall  the  fact 
that  a  statement  cut  upon  stone  is  not  an  affidavit  on  oath.  A 
truculent-looking  fort,  black  with  age,  stands  close  to  the  water's 


i66  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

edge,  a  relic  of  the  time  when  the  British  and  French  played 
at  Dominica  a  game  very  like  that  known  to  boys  as  "  King  of 
the  Castle." 

The  inhabitants — negroes  and  mulattoes — make  the  dull 
streets,  the  duller  quayside  and  the  market-place  bright  by  their 
gaudy  costumes,  and  by  the  brilliant  turbans  and  scarves  with 
which  the  women  deck  their  heads. 

Behind  the  town  is  a  steep  green  hill,  the  Morne  Bruce,  with 
still  upon  its  summit  the  signs  of  a  long  military  occupation.  From 
the  far  margin  of  the  hill  is  a  view  of  the  Roseau  valley  as  it  winds 
inland.  There  are  few  who  will  not  allow  that  this  is  the  most 
enchanting  prospect  in  the  whole  of  the  West  Indian  islands,  and 
that  the  vale  of  the  Roseau  River  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  in 
the  tropics.  The  valley  is  narrow  and  its  walls  are  steep,  walls 
of  grey  cliff  and  tree-covered  slope.  Over  the  cliffs  have 
fallen  a  cascade  of  green,  festoons  of  creepers,  swinging  ropes. 
At  the  foot  of  the  rock  lie  piled-up  masses  of  jungle,  slopes  of 
leaves,  ledges  of  emerald.  Through  the  tangle  tears  the  roaring 
stream,  showing  here  and  there,  among  the  palms,  the  tree  ferns 
and  the  tufts  of  bamboo,  a  flash  of  silver. 

There  is  no  tint  of  green  that  this  valley  does  not  parade,  from 
the  green  of  blue  seas  to  the  green  of  malachite.  There  is  no 
magic  of  sunlight  and  deep  shade,  no  trickery  of  the  waving  wind, 
no  illusion  of  the  shifting  mist,  that  it  does  not  employ  to  enhance 
its  fascination.  Far  off  it  ends  mysteriously  among  the  great  hills, 
turning  away  along  a  defile  into  the  secret  recesses  of  the  island. 

Some  two  days'  journey  from  the  coast  is  the  Boiling  Lake 
discovered  by  Dr.  Nicholls  in  1875.  The  following  is  his  descrip- 
tion of  it.  "  The  Boiling  Lake  fills  a  small  crateriform  depression 
on  the  eastern  slope  of  the  Grand  Soufriere  Mountains.  Sometimes 
the  basin  is  empty,  and  then  in  the  centre  is  seen  the  circular 
opening  of  a  geyser.  In  times  of  activity  boiling  muddy  water, 
heavily  charged  with  sulphurous  gases,  is  thrown  up  to  a  con- 
siderable height,  until  the  accumulation  in  the  basin  forms  the  so- 
called  Boiling  Lake,  and  even  then  the  position  of  the  central 
orifice  may  be  made  out  by  the  gyrating  high  mound  of  water 


DOMINICA.  167 

caused  by  the  ejective  forces  below."  ^     Photographs  of  this  strange 
pool  show  it  to  be  singularly  dismal,  desolate  and  unlovely. 

That  it  may  be  the  haunt  of  the  diablotin,  or  little  devil  (the 
bird  who  gives  a  name  to  the  highest  peak  in  Dominica),  is 
possible,  as  that  fowl  has  peculiar  and  doleful  habits.  The 
diablotin  is  said  by  Froude  to  be  "  a  great  bird,  black  as  charcoal, 
half  raven  and  half  parrot."  Others  state  that  it  spends  its  days 
in  craters  and  its  nights  by  the  melancholy  sea  searching  for  fish. 
If  this  be  true  it  is  to  be  conceived  that  the  unpleasant  bird  would 
find  in  the  dead,  sulphur-blasted,  and  boulder-strewn  shores  of  the 
Boiling  Lake  all  the  charms  of  home. 

*  Dominica,  by  Dr.  H.  A.  Nicholls,  C.M.G.,  Antigua. 


i68  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 


xxxn. 

VICTORINE   AND   HER   FOREFATHERS. 

A  SPECIAL  interest  attaches  to  Dominica  in  that  it  is  —  as 
Dr.  Nicholls  says^ — "  the  only  island  where  pure-blooded  descen- 
dants of  the  original  inhabitants  of  the  Antilles  are  to  be  found." 
There  is  in  a  remote  spot  on  the  north-east  coast  of  the  island 
a  Carib  Reservation  provided  by  the  Government,  Here  these 
ancient  people  live  in  peace  and  contentment.  Although  their 
numbers  are  diminishing,  they  can  still  muster  about  three  hundred. 
"  They  pay  no  taxes,  but  are  required  to  keep  open  the  main  road 
through  the  Reserve,  and  their  chief  receives  a  small  stipend  from 
the  Government.  They  are  now  quiet,  peaceful,  and  well  man- 
nered. .  .  .  They  have  lost  all  trace  of  their  double  language  (for 
the  men  used  to  speak  one  language  while  the  women  spoke 
another),  and  occupy  their  days  by  fishing,  making  their  celebrated 
waterproof  baskets,  and  cultivating  small  plots  of  West  Indian 
fruits  and  vegetables."  ^ 

It  would  appear  that  the  earliest-known  inhabitants  of  the 
West  Indian  island  were  peoples  of  two  types,  the  Arawaks  and 
the  Caribs.  They  both  came  from  the  South  American  mainland, 
the  Arawaks  from  Northern  Brazil,  the  Caribs  from  parts  further 
south.  Both  are  described  as  races  of  the  Mongolic  type,  with 
yellow  to  olive-brown  skin,  long,  lank,  black  hair,  a  broad  skull, 
almond-shaped  black  eyes,  slightly  oblique,  and  bodies  of  moderate 
stature.  The  Arawaks  were  no  doubt  the  earlier  of  the  two  to 
reach  the  islands,  were  savages  of  a  low  type,  indolent,  gentle  and 
unprogressive.  The  Caribs,  who  gradually  displaced  these  docile 
folk,  were  of  greater  average  height,  were  fierce,  warlike  and 
'  Dominica,  by  Dr.  H.  A.  Nicholls,  C.M.G.,  Antigua. 


VICTORINE   AND   HER   FOREFATHERS.         169 

intelligent,  and  frankly  addicted  to  cannibalism.  They  could 
claim  to  be  a  race  of  fine  people.  Drake  when  he  visited 
Dominica  describes  them  as  "  very  personable  and  handsome 
strong  men." 

At  the  time  of  the  discovery  of  the  New  World  by  Columbus 
the  Greater  Antilles  and  the  Bahamas  were  inhabited  by  Arawaks, 
the  Lesser  Antilles  by  Caribs.  It  was  a  day  of  lamentation  for 
the  islander  when  he  met  with  the  enlightened  white  man,  who 
came  from  the  unknown  East  bringing  with  him  the  "  blessings 
of  civilisation." 

The  place  of  meeting  of  these  two  was  at  an  island  called  by 
Columbus  San  Salvador,  but  now  known  as  Watling's  Island. 
It  received  its  latter  name  from  a  sin-hardened  old  pirate,  John 
Watling,  who  was  shot  in  168 1  while  attempting  to  plunder  a 
city.  It  is  a  small  island,  some  twelve  miles  in  length,  belonging 
to  Great  Britain,  occupied  mainly  by  salt-water  lagoons  and  low 
wooded  hills  ;  it  yet  manages  to  support  a  population  of  600  people, 
and  to  merit  a  reputation  for  breeding  excellent  sheep  and  cattle. 
Watling's  Island  is  the  first  land  sighted  by  the  mail  steamer  in 
her  homeward  journey  from  New  York  to  the  West  Indies.  It 
should  therefore  be  familiar  to  many.  If  the  ship  passes  in  the 
night  there  is  still  the  flash  from  the  lighthouse  to  show  where 
the  island  lies. 

It  was  an  ever-memorable  morning,  the  morning  of  October 
12,  1492,  a  day  portentous  and  terrible.  The  naked  savage  of 
San  Salvador,  when  he  gazed  from  the  sea-commanding  hills, 
must  have  wondered  where  the  great  water  that  spread  eastward 
came  to  an  end.  The  West  he  knew :  there  were  familiar 
islands,  and  that  wide  continent  which  figured  in  the  traditions 
of  his  tribe.  As  to  the  East,  the  white  beach  at  his  feet  marked 
the  extremcst  limit  of  the  known  world.  From  behind  the 
eastern  sea  rose  at  dawn  the  sun  and  at  night  the  stars,  while 
from  out  of  the  same  mystic  heaven  blew  the  abiding  wind  ;  but 
nothing  that  had  life  had  ever  emerged  from  over  the  unchanging 
ocean  rim.  No  canoe  that  had  passed  beyond  that  margin  had 
ever  returned  to  the  land  again. 


170  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

Now,  on  this  October  morning,  there  came  from  out  of  the 
unknown  three  fearsome  things  that  moved  upon  the  sea.^  The 
islander  would  behold  the  faint  image  of  a  towering  ship  made 
ghostly  by  the  uncertain  haze,  and  so  colossal  that  its  masts 
reached  to  the  clouds.  As  the  dawn  broke  he  would  see  the  foam 
about  the  sullen  bows,  the  bellying  sails,  the  castle  on  the  fore,  the 
tower  on  the  poop.  Every  wondrous  rope  and  spar  would  be  cut 
clear  against  the  tender  light ;  the  rocking  yards  would  stretch 
across  the  clearing  sky  ;  the  figures  of  men  and  the  gleam  of  arms 
would  be  seen  along  the  rail.  It  was  not  for  him  to  know  that 
the  banner  at  the  mizzen  was  the  standard  of  Castile,  and  that  the 
great  cross  painted  on  the  mainsail  was  the  sign  of  the  Redeemer. 
This  ship  from  out  of  the  unimaginable  abyss  would  seem  to  the 
islander  to  have  sailed  from  the  sun.  As  it  came  on  the  sky 
around  it  would  break  into  lilac  and  crimson  and  gold,  light  would 
radiate  from  it  as  rays  from  a  planet,  and  encircled  by  the  many- 
coloured  halo  of  the  dawn,  the  majestic  craft  would  roll  towards 
the  land. 

Columbus,  clad  in  armour  and  wearing  a  scarlet  cloak,  landed 
on  the  beach  with  profound  solemnity,  and  in  this  wise  the  wild 
man  and  his  destroyer  met.  The  simple  naked  folk  brought  as 
presents  balls  of  cotton,  spears  and  parrots,  and  received  in 
exchange  scarlet  caps,  beads,  and  hawk's  bells.  The  foremost 
and  ever  present  desire  of  the  adventurer  from  Castile  was  that 
"the  Lord  in  His  mercy  would  direct  him  to  find  gold"  :  after 
that  came  a  yearning  to  see  these  poor  untutored  people  "  free 
and  converted  to  the  Holy  Faith."  To  see  them  free  ;  they  who 
were  as  free  as  the  sea-birds  !  To  strive  that  they  may  be  "  saved 
from  the  darkness  of  their  happy  innocence,  and  brought  to  the 
light  of  a  religion  that  had  just  evolved  the  Inquisition  "  !^ 

It  would  have  been  happy  if  the  bartering  had  ended  with 
balls  of  cotton  and  hawk's  bells ;  but  it  soon  became  a  traffic  in 
which  the  only  island  goods  that  were  marketable  were  human 
lives. 

'  The  three  vessels  of  Columbus  were  the  Sania  Maria,  loo  tons,  the  Finta,  50  tons, 
and  the  Nina,  40  tons. 

*  Christopher  Columbus,  by  Filson  Young,  vol.  i.  p:igo  107  :  London,  1906. 


VICTORINE   AND    HER   FOREFATHERS.         171 

The  first  settlement  of  the  Castilians  was  on  Haiti.  The 
natives  here — estimated  at  about  a  milHon  in  number — were  the 
childlike,  unresisting  Arawaks.  They  were  soon  wiped  off  the 
earth.  They  were  made  to  work  as  slaves  in  the  mines  until  they 
died  of  starvation  and  excessive  toil.  They  were  massacred 
wholesale  with  appropriate  treachery,  were  hunted  down  as  if  they 
were  rabbits,  were  decimated  by  imported  diseases,  or  beaten  to 
death  for  not  attending  Mass.  The  gentle  Queen  Isabel  did  what 
lay  in  her  power  to  protect  them.  Slavery  was  by  her  forbidden, 
but  the  prohibition  was  easily  evaded  by  ingenious  forms  of 
indentured  labour.  It  was  urged,  too,  that  it  was  good  for  the 
natives  to  work  in  mines,  as  idleness  was  demoralising.  The  poor 
Indians  could  not  look  after  themselves,  the  slave-driver  said,  and 
moreover  if  they  remained  in  their  villages  "  it  was  impossible  to 
instruct  them  in  the  principles  of  Christianity."  Even  supposing 
that  they  were  enslaved,  murdered,  or  worked  to  death,  at  least  in 
every  instance  they  were  baptised. 

When  Haiti  became  depopulated  the  pious  Spaniards  extended 
the  field  of  their  missionary  labours  to  the  Lesser  Antilles ;  but  in 
these  islands  the  cause  was  not  blessed,  for  they  had  to  deal  with 
the  warlike  Carib  who  was  more  than  a  match  for  them.  Thus  it 
was  that  these  pioneers  of  civilisation  turned  their  attention  to  the 
Bahamas.  Here  they  kidnapped  the  docile  islanders  without 
having  to  murder  very  many  of  them,  baptised  the  survivors  and 
sent  them  to  the  mines  to  rot. 

It  was  never  forgotten  that  the  object  of  these  man-hunting 
forays  was  to  enable  the  Arawak  to  be  instructed  in  the  Holy 
Faith.  "  It  would  be  necessary,"  explained  the  Governor  of 
Haiti,  "  that  they  should  be  transported  to  Hispaniola  (Haiti) ; 
as  missionaries  could  not  be  spared  to  every  place  and  there 
was  no  other  way  in  which  this  abandoned  people  could  be 
converted."  ^  It  was  by  this  energetic  method  of  extending 
the  blessings  of  religion  to  the  abandoned  natives  of  the 
Bahamas  that  those  islands  became  as  bare  of  human  life  as 
a  desert. 

'  I/isiory  o/(/ie  Buccaneers,  by  Ca.pta.in  James  Burncy,  R.N.  :  London,  1S91. 


1/2  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

The  zeal  with  which  the  ministers  of  God  from  Spain  kept  the 
recently  baptised  savage  from  heresy  and  insured  his  attendance 
at  Mass  attracted  the  notice  of  such  explorers  as  came  to  the  New 
World.  Samuel  Champlain,  for  example,  made  a  voyage  into  these 
waters  between  the  years  1599  and  1602.^  He  gives,  in  the  book 
he  wrote,  a  picture  of  seven  Indians  burning  in  one  fire,  while  a 
couple  of  elaborately  dressed  Spaniards  stand  by  to  watch  them 
roasting  with  unaffected  boredom.  The  abandoned  natives  were 
probably  being  burned  alive  on  account  of  inaccurate  views  as  to 
the  Real  Presence,  but  as  they  were  ignorant  of  the  Spanish 
tongue  the  offence  was  small. 

In  another  engraving  Champlain  shows  how  the  savage,  after 
he  had  been  brought  under  religious  influences,  was  induced  to 
attend  the  service  of  his  church.  At  the  door  of  a  house  of  prayer 
stands  a  priest  with  a  book  in  his  hand.  The  fingers  of  the  other 
hand  are  raised  as  if  he  were  about  to  pronounce  a  blessing.  In 
the  forecourt  an  Indian  is  being  beaten  with  a  club  by  a  very 
powerful  man.  The  ecchymosed  savage  is  gazing  at  the  priest 
with  curiosity.  It  is  explained  that  the  club,  which  would  fell  an 
ox,  is  a  means  of  Grace  whereby  the  thoughtless  were  led  to  attend 
to  their  devotions.  It  is  further  explained  that  each  convert  who 
was  absent  from  Mass  received  at  the  hands  of  the  athletic  mis- 
sionary thirty  to  forty  blows  from  the  Gospel  club  in  the  precincts 
of  the  place  of  worship. 

Champlain  in  his  account  of  the  natives  remarks  that  "  they  are 
of  a  very  melancholy  humour."  Those  who  were  irregular  in 
their  church  attendances  and  who  survived  their  bruises  and 
broken  ribs  had  certainly  reasons  for  depression. 

The  Caribs  in  the  smaller  islands,  although  they  may  have  had 
the  good  fortune  to  escape  the  missionary,  fell  victims  to  the  man 
with  the  musket  and  the  man  with  a  keg  of  brandy  under  his  arm. 
They  both  came  to  him  with  lies  on  their  lips  and  treachery  in 
their  hearts.  The  Carib  had  to  fight  for  his  life  and  for  every  foot 
of  his  native  land.  He  had  to  fight  in  turn  the  Spaniards,  the 
French,  the  English  and  the  Dutch.     It  was  the  hopeless  battle  of 

*  Hakluyt  Society,  1859. 


VICTORINE   AND    HER   FOREFATHERS.         173 

arrow  and  spear  against  powder  and  ball  ;  the  war  of  the  naked 
savage  against  the  world.  The  brown  man,  however,  held  his 
own  valiantly.  In  Dominica  he  defied  all  comers  for  some  two 
centuries  and  a  half  He  had  strength,  sagacity  and  courage,  and 
behind  him  the  generous  arms  of  an  impenetrable  forest.  He 
might  have  held  his  islands  longer  but  for  his  taste  for  rum. 

During  my  stay  at  Dominica  I  was  able,  through  the  kindness 
of  Dr.  Nicholls,  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  a  pure-blooded  Carib 
from  the  Reservation.  She  was  a  girl  of  ten,  whose  name  was 
Victorine.  She  was  a  picturesque  little  maid,  with  pretty  manners 
and  a  singularly  sweet  voice.  Her  complexion  was  yellow-brown, 
her  hair  long,  lank  and  black.  She  had  the  lacquer-black  eyes  of 
a  Japanese  doll,  almond-shaped  and  a  little  oblique,  a  fine  mouth 
and  lips,  slightly  prominent  cheeks.  The  type  of  her  face  was 
distinctly  Mongolian,  without  the  least  suggestion  of  the  negro  in 
its  outlines.  She  was  as  erect  as  an  arrow  and  walked  as  only 
an  Indian  can  walk.  Her  dress  was  of  pink  stripes,  and  her  head- 
dress a  primrose-coloured  turban  or  madras.     (See  frontispiece.) 

Victorine  was  brought  out  to  see  the  steamer.  It  was  her  first 
experience  of  a  large  ship.  Everything  delighted  her  except  the 
engines.  It  was  about  the  bath-rooms  that  she  was  the  most 
curious,  for  in  a  quite  imperious  manner  she  signified  that  it  was 
her  pleasure  to  visit  them  a  second  time.  She  seemed  to  connect 
them  somehow  with  religion.  She  was  not  as  graceful  in  her 
mode  of  eating  as  in  her  walking.  She  was  given  tea,  but  declined 
the  use  of  a  saucer  as  superfluous.  Whatever  she  ate  was  first 
dipped  in  the  cup. 

Victorine  could  claim  at  least  an  interesting  ancestry.  Her 
people  roamed  the  island  for  centuries  before  Columbus  came. 
They  saw  the  sailing  hither  of  the  first  great  ship  the  Marie 
Galante.  They  watched  the  landing  of  Drake  and  Hawkins  when 
they  came  for  "  refreshing,"  just  as  now  they  may  gaze  at  blue- 
jackets coming  ashore  from  the  modern  ironclad.  Victorine 
may  not  be  "the  daughter  of  a  hundred  earls,"  but  among  her 
forefathers  might  have  been  that  "  King  of  the  Cannibal  Islands  " 
who  is  for  ever  famous  in  the  English  nursery  song. 


174  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE    DEEP. 

She  might  still  have  been  attracted  by  a  scarlet  cap,  a  string 
of  beads,  or  a  hawk's  bell.  None  of  these  being  at  hand,  she  was 
offered  her  choice  of  certain  commonplace  articles.  With  a 
remarkable  precision  and  with  more  than  mere  instinct  she 
selected  a  purse  and  two  half-crowns,  those  being  the  largest  of 
the  coins  laid  out  before  her.  It  was  impossible  not  to  feel  that 
the  most  fitting  present  for  this  little  wild  thing,  with  her  brown 
skin  and  piercing  eyes  and  her  wilder  ancestry,  would  still  have 
been  a  hawk's  bell. 


XXXIII. 

THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   SAINTS   PASSAGE. 

As  the  steamer  makes  her  way  northwards  again  there  comes  into 
view,  between  Dominica  and  Guadaloupe,  a  blue-water  channel. 
It  is  called  The  Saints  Passage,  not  on  the  surmise  that  it  leads  to 
Heaven,  but  because  athwart  it  lie  Les  Isles  des  Saintes  as  well 
as  little  Marie  Galante.  Here  was  fought,  between  Rodney  and 
De  Grasse,  the  bloody  and  momentous  battle  of  April  12,  1782. 
It  was  an  engagement  upon  which  hung  the  fate  of  Great  Britain 
in  the  West  Indies,  for  it  was  a  fight  for  the  mastery  of  the  sea. 

The  English  fleet  came  from  Gros  Islet  Bay  in  St.  Lucia,  the 
French  had  sailed  ahead  of  them  from  Martinique.  Off  Dominica 
Rodney,  on  April  9,  caught  up  with  the  enemy.  They  approached 
one  another  stealthily,  with  catlike  caution.  There  was  a  good 
deal  of  manoeuvring  and  shifting  of  place.  Like  two  wrestlers, 
with  every  muscle  on  the  strain,  they  faced  one  another,  keen  in 
the  intent  to  obtain  the  best  position  before  they  came  to  the  grip. 
On  April  12  Rodney  saw  his  opportunity  :  he  closed  in  upon  the 
French  fleet  and  the  battle  to  the  death  began. 

It  lasted  thirteen  hours,  and  no  one  can  say  who  fought  the 
more  gallantly,  the  French  or  the  British.  De  Grasse  was  on 
board  the  great  Ville  de  Paris,  a  ship  with  104  guns  and  the 
finest  man-of-war  afloat.  Rodney's  vessel  was  the  Formidable 
with  98  guns.  Rodney  was  at  the  time  a  man  of  sixty-four,  who 
had  had  his  share  of  buffeting  in  the  world,  and  was,  moreover, 
ill  with  the  gout.  A  man  harsh  and  reserved,  he  kept  himself 
aloof  from  his  officers,  having  little  of  that  camaraderie  which 
distinguishes  the  followers  of  the  sea.  He  fought  the  battle  alone, 
with  much  grumbling  and  growling  no  doubt,  but  with  infinite 
care  and  skill. 


176  THE   CRADLE   OF  THE   DEEP. 

As  to  the  battle  itself  it  was  no  mean  sight  at  the  end.  There 
were  over  sixty  ships  of  war  engaged,  and  most  of  them  had  had 
belabouring  enough  by  the  time  the  sun  set  On  many  the  flag 
had  been  hauled  down.  Some  were  being  towed  away  helpless, 
while  not  a  few  were  drifting  about  in  silence,  mere  aimless 
wrecks.  In  the  blue  sky  above  the  Passage  of  the  Saints  there 
hung  still  a  fateful  cloud  of  smoke.  The  pansy-coloured  sea  was 
strewn  with  spars  and  tangled  gear,  with  ugly  splinters  of  stout 
oak  and  strange  things  swept  from  disordered  decks.  Here  it  may 
be  was  a  swimming  man  and  there,  behind  him,  the  fin  of  a  shark. 

The  firing  had  become  feebler  and  feebler  until  it  had  almost 
ceased.  Quiet  had  fallen  upon  the  outskirts  of  the  fight,  but  in 
the  centre  was  some  hubbub  still.  Here  was  one  ship  which 
would  not  be  silenced.  Her  upper  works  were  shattered  from 
bow  to  stern,  her  sails  were  in  rags,  her  ropes  and  rigging  hung 
from  the  spars  like  dead  creepers  in  a  wood,  her  decks  were 
covered  with  the  wounded  and  the  dying.  Yet  still,  from  time  to 
time — and  the  intervals  became  painfully  longer — a  puff  of  smoke 
would  burst  savagely  from  her  battered  ports.  This  was  the 
French  flagship,  the  Ville  de  Paris,  the  only  vessel  that  had  not 
surrendered.  A  last  broadside  was  poured  into  her  by  the 
English,  and  now  maimed,  reeling,  dazed,  she  made  no  answer. 

In  a  breathless  silence  the  flag  of  France  came  down  through 
the  powder  smoke,  and  any  who  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
sea  between  the  hulls  of  the  encircling  ships  would  notice  that 
a  small  boat  was  being  rowed  from  the  Ville  de  Paris  to  the 
Formidable.  In  the  boat  was  Comte  de  Grasse  on  his  way  to 
surrender  his  sword  to  the  British  adm-iral. 

In  the  quiet,  old-world  square  of  Spanish  Town  in  Jamaica  is 
a  memorial  to  Rodney,  and  in  front  of  it  stand  two  brass  eighteen 
pounders.  They  are  very  daintily  decorated,  bear  the  date  1748, 
and,  under  a  proud  coat  of  arms,  the  name  "  Louis  Charles  de 
Bourbon,  Comte  d'Eu,  Due  d'Aumale."  These  were  the  two  most 
cherished  guns  from  the  fighting  deck  of  the  Ville  de  Paris,  and 
one  may  be  allowed  to  think  that  from  their  grey-green  muzzles 
was  fired,  on  that  day  in  April,  the  last  defiant  charge. 


XXXIV. 

ST.  KITTS. 

Every  reader  of  "  Vanity  Fair  "  will  remember  that  from  St.  Kitts 
came  Miss  Swartz,  "  the  rich,  woolly-haired  mulatto,"  who  was 
a  parlour  boarder  at  Miss  Pinkerton's  Select  Academy  for  young 
ladies  on  Chiswick  Mall.  Miss  Swartz,  by  reason  of  her  being  an 
heiress,  "  paid  double,"  but  then  she  had  the  priceless  advantage 
of  learning  the  French  tongue  from  no  less  a  person  than  Becky 
Sharp.  It  will  be  recalled  also  that  Miss  Swartz,  besides  being 
woolly-headed,  was  acutely  emotional,  for  it  is  recorded  that  when 
she  parted  with  Miss  Amelia  Sedley  at  the  Chiswick  Academy, 
her  "  hysterical  yoops  were  such  as  no  pen  can  depict,  and  as  the 
tender  heart  would  fain  pass  over," 

Although  St.  Kitts  still  produces  woolly-haired  young  women, 
it  is  to  be  feared  that  few  of  them  are  heiresses,  or  are  in  a 
position  to  "  pay  double "  at  such  a  seat  of  learning  as  Miss 
Pinkerton's  Academy.  The  island  is  distinctly  prosperous,  but  the 
days  for  the  making  of  large  fortunes  in  sugar  have  long  since 
gone  by. 

St.  Kitts  will  impress  the  visitor  as  being  not  only  well-to-do  but 
comfortable.  Almost  every  available  part  of  it  is  cultivated,  for 
fields  of  sugar-cane  climb  far  up  the  mountain  sides.  The  island 
possesses  excellent  roads  ;  its  villages  are  neat,  while  there  is 
about  them  little  of  that  squalor  or  air  of  dejection  which  is 
conspicuous  in  neighbouring  settlements.  After  experience  of 
such  wild  islands  as  St.  Lucia  and  Dominica,  St.  Kitts  will  be 
welcome,  since  it  is,  in  a  happy  measure,  free  from  the  untidy 
tangle  of  the  tropics,  from    the   ever-repeated  savage  gorge   and 

N 


178  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

tree-bristling  precipice.  It  is  welcome  to  those  who,  in  their 
journey  among  the  islands,  have  become  surfeited  with  the 
"  everlasting  hills  "  and  the  exigency  of  the  restless  and  impor- 
tunate jungle. 

St.  Kitts  has  much  of  the  garden  trimness  of  England,  and 
something  of  the  homeliness  of  the  mother  country.  It  is  possible 
to  drive  for  miles  along  a  straight,  white  road,  between  fields 
which  are  not  a  little  like  fields  of  exalted  corn,  and  by  green 
slopes  which  might  be  covered  by  Brobdingnagian  turnips.  The 
road  skirts  the  coast  so  that,  ever  and  again,  there  opens  out  such 
a  view  of  the  sea  and  of  long  beaches  as  may  be  come  upon 
within  sound  of  the  English  Channel.  By  the  roadside  will  be 
a  little  old  stone  church — such  as  the  one  near  Palmetto  Point — 
with  a  wooden  tower,  and  in  the  churchyard  the  crumbling  tombs 
of  British  settlers  who  died  two  centuries  ago.  Then  in  a  dip 
among  the  trees  will  be  a  picturesque  village  of  pewter-grey 
timber  houses,  with  sun  shutters  and  shingle  roofs,  shaded  by 
palms,  and  half  hidden  by  bushes  of  scarlet  hibiscus. 

The  village  women — negresses  and  mulattoes — wear  bright- 
patterned  gowns  and  a  turban  or  madras  still  more  brilliant 
in  hue.  It  is  uncommon  in  the  country,  and  even  in  the  town, 
to  see  the  coloured  women  disfigured  by  a  slatternly  imitation 
of  European  dress. 

The  main  part  of  the  island  (as  viewed  from  the  sea)  shows 
one  immense  central  mountain  which  pervades  the  whole  territory, 
and  sends  forth  trailing  ridges  from  which  spring  secondary  hills, 
such  as  those  of  Middle  Range  and  the  South-East  Ridge.  The 
parent  mountain  is  called  Mount  Misery.  It  is  an  extinct  volcano, 
4300  feet  high,  sour  enough  looking  to  justify  its  name.  It  keeps 
its  dead  crater  hidden  from  sight,  wrapped  round  by  a  shawl  of 
clouds.  All  about  the  skirts  of  the  hills  are  easy  slopes  and  plains, 
cultivated  to  the  last  acre. 

The  general  colour  of  the  island  is  lettuce-green — the  green  of 
the  sugar-cane.  This  will  be  mottled  here  and  there  with  brown 
where  the  sea-island  cotton  is  growing,  or  will  be  slashed  with 
streaks  of  ivy-green  where  a  gully,  stuffed  with  trees,  roams  down 


ST.   KITTS  179 

the  mountain  side.  Above  the  pleasant  belt  of  lettuce-green  are 
the  dark  hill  summits  and  the  clouds.  Below  it  is  the  smooth 
blue  of  the  sea. 

Basse  Terre,  the  capital,  is,  like  the  rest  of  the  island,  clean, 
orderly  and  well  content.  It  lies  at  the  foot  of  a  shapely  height 
called  Monkey  Hill.  Most  of  the  houses  are  of  wood,  some  are  of 
grey  stone.  There  is  little  that  is  ancient  about  the  town,  except 
the  tombs  in  the  churchyard,  because  it  has  suffered  much  from 
fire.  It  is  a  healthy  wind-swept  place,  with  a  reputation  for 
salubrity  as  far  back  as  the  time  when  Francis  Drake  and  his 
fleet  spent  a  Christmas  here  "  to  refresh  our  sick  people,  and  to 
cleanse  and  air  our  ships."  ^  To  show  that  it  is  alive  to  what  is 
expected  of  a  chief  city  it  has  a  public  garden — Pall  Mall  Square 
— in  the  centre  of  which  is  the  necessary  insigne  of  greatness, 
a  fountain. 

St.  Kitts — or,  to  give  it  its  proper  name,  St.  Christopher — was 
never  colonised  by  Spain.  The  first  settlers  were  English,  who 
landed  in  1623  under  the  guidance  of  "  a  man  of  extraordinary 
agillity  of  body  and  a  good  witt,"  one  Thomas  Warner,  Gent. 
The  chief  trouble  of  the  newcomers  was  with  the  Caribs.  In  1625 
a  poor  wreck  of  a  French  privateer  crept  into  St.  Christopher. 
D'Esnambuc,  the  captain  of  the  battered  ship,  begged  the  English 
to  give  him  refuge,  and  allow  him  and  his  crew  of  thirty  men  to 
land.  He  had  been  badly  disabled  in  an  engagement  with  a 
Spanish  galleon,  and  for  the  moment  had  had  enough  of  the  sea. 
The  English  welcomed  him  as  an  addition  to  the  force  for  fighting 
the  Caribs. 

Thus  it  chanced  that  the  island  became  partly  British  and 
partly  French.  The  English  settled  at  Sandy  Point,  just  beyond 
Brimstone  Hill,  the  men  from  the  privateer  at  Basse  Terre.  It  is 
unnecessary  to  say  that  this  arrangement — like  the  Box  and  Cox 
tenancy — did  not  make  for  peace.  So  long  as  there  were  any 
Caribs  to  murder  the  two  peoples  were  quite  happy,  but  when  the 
supply  of  wild  men  failed,  then  poor  St.  Christopher  came  to  the 
knowledge  that  she  had  no  abiding  city.     The  island  was  some- 

'  Hakluyt  Society.     Narrative  by  Thomas  Gates. 

Ma 


i8o  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

times  French,  sometimes  English,  and  in  uneasy  intervals  it  was 
neither  or  both.  The  English  had  the  last  move  in  the  game,  for 
since  1783  St.  Kitts  has  been  a  colony  of  Great  Britain. 

Probably  the  most  conspicuous  feature  of  the  island  is  Brim- 
stone Hill.  The  mound  with  this  unpleasant  name  is  some  nine 
miles  from  Basse  Terre  by  the  white  coast  road  of  which  mention 
has  been  made.  An  ancient  church  with  a  solid  square  tower  is 
passed  on  the  way,  called  Middle  Island  Church.  Here  will  be 
found,  in  a  dilapidated  condition,  the  tomb  of  Thomas  Warner, 
the  founder  of  the  colony.  It  would  appear  from  the  inscription 
on  the  stone  that  he  bought  an  illustrious  name  "  with  losse  of 
noble  blood,"  and  that  having  accomplished  this  purchase  he  died 
in  March  1648.  Brimstone  Hill  is  an  isolated  precipitous  mass  of 
rock,  779  feet  high,  standing  alone  near  the  seashore  opposite 
Mount  Misery.  It  seems  as  if  it  had  been  tipped  out  of  the  crater 
of  that  mountain,  for  there  are  those  who  say  that  it  would  just  fit 
into  the  cavity  of  the  volcano.  It  belongs  to  no  ridge  nor  range, 
and  has  the  appearance  of  a  wandering  hill  that  has  lost  its  way. 
Some  portion  of  it  is  bare  cliff,  while  the  major  part  of  the  rock  is 
covered  with  scrub.  The  hill  was  easily  made  a  fortified  place, 
and  as  such  it  was  the  centre  around  which  the  island  fighting 
raged. 

As  it  at  present  stands  every  available  portion  of  the  rock  is 
covered  with  defensive  works  and  military  buildings  a  century  old. 
A  steep,  winding  road  leads  up  to  the  main  gate.  Within  are 
steeper  ramps  and  precipitous  stairs,  endless  walls  and  parapets, 
roving  passages,  lines  of  barracks,  gun  embrasures  by  the  score, 
redoubts,  bastions,  ravelins,  sally-ports,  stone-roofed  magazines, 
officers'  quarters,  and  a  maze  of  cellar-like  chambers.  It  is  indeed 
a  little  town  on  a  hill,  a  town  of  stone,  whose  walls  have  been 
blackened  by  years,  while  upon  the  whole  of  the  rambling  fortress 
has  fallen  the  ruin  of  long  emptiness  and  neglect. 

It  is  a  purgatorial  place  to  visit,  especially  on  a  hot  day,  and 
as  a  penance  for  those  of  uneasy  conscience  there  can  be  nothing 
more  satisfying  than  a  climb  to  the  solid  mass  of  loopholed  and 
battlemented  masonry  that  crowns  the  summit  of  tlie  height.     Here 


ST.    KITTS.  iSi 

at  least  is  the  fort  impregnable,  the  all-defying  rock  stronghold. 
To  reach  to  even  the  drawbridge  is  to  pass  through  more  obstacles 
than  ever  beset  Christian  in  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress."  Indeed  the 
fortress  on  the  peak  might  be  that  Doubting  Castle  whose  owner 
was  Giant  Despair  and  whose  chatelaine  was  Madam  Diffidence. 
The  massive  door  is  just  such  an  one  as  Mr.  Greatheart  knocked 
at,  and  at  which  he  parleyed  with  the  porter. 

I  am  afraid  that  this  heavily  armoured  giant  of  a  fort — in  spite 
of  all  its  bluster — must  rank  with  the  parlour  warrior,  for  it  has 
seen  practically  nothing  of  fighting.  It  was  built  in  1793  (as  the 
date  over  the  gate  testifies),  but  by  that  time  St.  Kitts  had  passed 
through  its  many  troubles  and  had  entered  upon  the  present  long 
spell  of  comparative  peace. 

The  view  from  the  summit  of  the  works  is  very  fine.  At  one's 
feet  are  the  Caribbean  coast  of  St.  Christopher  and  the  village  of 
Sandy  Point,  where  was  once  the  capital  of  the  English  half  of  the 
island.  A  little  way  to  the  north  are  two  sleek  volcanic  cones 
rising  out  of  the  sea.  These  are  the  strange  and  curious  Dutch 
islands,  Saba  and  St.  Eustatius. 

High  up  on  Brimstone  Hill,  on  a  ledge  of  the  bare  cliff,  is  the 
graveyard,  where  will  be  found  the  only  chronicles  of  the  fortress 
that  are  preserved  among  the  ruins.  From  the  tombstones  it  will 
be  seen  that  the  9th  Regiment  was  here  in  1790,  the  25th 
Regiment  in  1808,  and  the  King's  Own  Borderers  in  1811.  Itwill 
appear  also  that  on  the  hill  lived  women  and  children,  for  many 
are  buried  here.  Death  came  quickly  to  some,  as  is  shown  by 
a  monument  to  two  boys  aged  respectively  nine  years  and  two 
years,  the  sons  of  a  major  of  the  25th  Regiment,  who  died  within 
a  few  days  of  each  other. 

Not  the  least  interesting  stone  in  the  small  cemetery  bears  the 
following  curious  inscription  : 

Memorial  Sacrum  of  John  Boreham 

LATE   SOLDIER   MY  QTH   REGIMT  OF   FOOT 

Dec  1790  Aged  38 
He  left  his  wife  Isauel  and  4  children 
She  erecd  this  stone  as  her  last  duty 


i82  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

Should  the  ghost  of  the  soldier's  wife  ever  return  to  the  island 
and  to  this  little  niche  in  the  clifif  where  she  fulfilled  her  Last 
Duty,  she  will  find  that,  although  the  fort  is  abandoned  and  the 
barracks  of  the  9th  Regiment  are  roofless  and  silent,  the  plot  of 
ground  is  still  carefully  tended,  the  "  Memorial  Sacrum  "  is  still 
intact,  while  by  its  side,  as  if  it  were  Isabel's  spirit,  is  an  English 
rose  in  bloom. 


XXXV. 

ST.   KITTS   IN   ALL   ITS   GLORY. 

Certain  letters  written  from  St.  Kitts  by  Christopher  Jeafifreson 
between  the  years  1676  and  1686  serve  to  give  a  graphic  picture  of 
the  island  in  its  heyday.*  Christopher  was  born  in  England  in 
1650.  His  father,  a  Suffolk  gentleman,  was  a  friend  and  neigh- 
bour of  that  "  man  of  extraordinary  agillity  of  body "  Thomas 
Warner,  who  founded  the  West  Indian  colony.  In  this  enter- 
prise the  agile  Warner  was  joined  by  Christopher's  father,  who 
ultimately  built  a  large  house  in  St.  Kitts  and  established  a 
plantation  there. 

Thomas  Warner  was  a  remarkable  man,  and  his  wife,  in  the 
matter  of  courage  and  devotion,  was  certainly  no  ordinary  woman. 
She  and  her  boy  of  thirteen  left  a  comfortable  home  in  East 
Anglia  to  join  the  pioneer  party  who  were  bent  upon  establishing 
a  colony  in  the  unknown  West  Indies.  When  the  Warner  family 
sailed  from  out  of  the  English  Channel  into  the  open  sea  they  had 
no  idea  where  they  were  destined  to  land.  The  spirit  of  adventure 
must  have  been  strong  upon  them,  for  a  voyage  of  4000 
miles  in  such  a  sailing  ship  as  dared  the  seas  in  1623  would  have 
made  faint  the  hearts  of  most. 

Christopher  Jeaffreson  on  his  father's  death  inherited  the 
property  in  St  Kitts,  and  paid  his  first  visit  to  the  island  in  1676, 
when  he  was  twenty-six  years  old  and,  it  may  be  added,  already 
a  widower.  He  left  Billingsgate  on  February  16,  1676,  in  the 
Jacob  and  Mary,  a  vessel  of  150  tons,  carrying  sixteen  guns. 
He  took  with  him  four  servants  and  reached  St.  Kitts  on  May  24, 

*  A  Young  Squire  of  the  Seventeenth  Century.     London,  1878. 


i84  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

with  no  more  than  moderate  adventures.  His  journey  home,  some 
ten  years  later,  was  more  expeditious  for  it  occupied  only  nine 
weeks.  It  was  so  tedious  a  voyage,  however,  that  his  joy  was 
excessive  when,  after  sixty-three  days  on  the  high  seas,  they  came 
at  last  to  an  anchor  in  "  Westcoat  Bay  a  few  miles  above  Margett." 
In  his  account  of  the  wearisome  home-coming  he  only  regrets  that 
they  "  were  a  little  too  lavish  of  their  liquors  at  first." 

It  appears  from  Christopher's  letters  that  trade  in  the  island 
was  very  brisk.  There  was  no  actual  handling  of  money.  Every- 
thing was  paid  for  in  sugar,  indigo,  or  tobacco.  Servants'  wages 
were  paid  in  sugar.  A  skilled  artisan,  after  four  years  of  free 
service,  received  4000  lbs.  of  sugar  per  annum.  This  curious 
salary  he  exchanged  for  goods  sent  out  from  England.  He  must 
have  found  it  difficult  to  save  money  in  the  island,  for  4000  lbs. 
of  sugar  are  not  to  be  kept  in  a  money-box,  while  the  income  of 
a  few  years  would  fill  even  a  roomy  cabin.  Slaves  were  bought  and 
sold  in  sugar.  The  purchaser  of  an  estate  could  pay  for  it  either 
in  sugar,  indigo  or  tobacco  according  to  choice.  Shopping,  if  con- 
ducted on  the  usual  lines,  must  have  been  not  only  cumbersome 
but  bared  of  much  of  its  charm.  For  example,  the  wife  of  the 
Captain-General  set  her  heart,  writes  Jeaffreson,  upon  a  piece  of 
Smyrna  carpet  which  is  described  as  being  both  "  large  and  fine." 
The  price  of  it  was  1700  lbs,  of  sugar.  The  lady  obtained  the 
carpet,  but  how  the  sugar  was  weighed  out  and  who  handed  it 
over  the  counter  is  not  stated. 

If  there  was  a  tavern  in  the  town,  and  if  refreshments  were  to 
be  paid  for  in  cash,  the  winebibber  must  have  taken  a  cartload  of 
sugar  about  with  him,  together  with  a  shovel  and  a  pair  of  scales. 
Even  if  he  trundled  a  wheelbarrow  full  of  the  commodity  down 
to  the  inn,  it  may  not  have  met  his  wants  on  a  thirsty  day,  and 
in  any  case  he  would,  when  tipsy,  have  more  than  the  usual 
difficulty  in  counting  his  change.  As  collections  in  church  must 
needs  be  made  in  something  less  messy  than  sugar,  or  less  apt  to 
stain  the  fingers  than  indigo,  it  would  be  left  to  the  worshipper,  it 
may  be  supposed,  to  place  tobacco  leaves  in  the  plate  as  the  only 
available  currency. 


ST.   KITTS    IN   ALL    ITS   GLORY.  185 

St.  Kitts,  even  in  the  younger  Jeaffreson's  time,  was  ex- 
ceedingly fashionable.  The  ladies  were  as  modish  and  as  elegant 
in  their  dress  as  were  the  belles  of  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  or  Soho. 
The  gentlemen,  for  their  part,  were  equally  exquisite  and  as 
devoted  to  point-lace  and  gilt  sword  bands  as  were  the  gallants  in 
the  Mall  or  Spring  Gardens.  Elaborate  entertainments  were  in 
vogue,  especially  fine  dinners,  where  the  guests  were  waited  upon 
by  a  crowd  of  negro  servants  in  serge  liveries,  and  where  there  was 
much  drinking  of  madeira.  Indeed  Mr.  Jeaffreson  in  a  business 
letter  remarks  that  the  best  "  commoditie "  in  the  island  was 
"  Madera  wine." 

Close  to  St.  Kitts  is  the  island  of  Nevis.  The  two  are  so  near 
together  fehat  the  channel,  as  it  sweeps  between  Windy  Hill  and 
Scotch  Bonnet  Head,  is  barely  two  miles  in  width.  Nevis  was 
destined  to  eclipse  even  St.  Kitts  as  a  mirror  of  fashion  and  as 
a  resort  of  the  most  polished  society.  It  was  already  the  seat 
of  what  may  be  termed  the  court,  since  it  had  pleased  the  Captain- 
General  to  make  his  headquarters  there. 

Now  the  lady  who  bought  the  Smyrna  carpet  for  1700  lbs. 
of  sugar  had  a  sister  living  with  her  at  Government  House.  Her 
name  was  Mistress  Frances  Russell.  She  was  fifteen  years  of 
age,  and  would  receive  on  her  marriage  1500  pounds  (not  of 
sugar  but  of  English  gold)  and  four  negroes.  The  age  at  which 
most  ladies  married  in  West  Indian  circles  was  sixteen,  and 
Christopher  Jeaffreson,  although  now  thirty-one  years  of  age, 
gazed  amorously  upon  Miss  Frances  Russell  and  determined  to 
make  her  his. 

To  go  a-courting  in  a  refined  community  like  that  of  Nevis  one 
must  needs  be  well  dressed.  So  Christopher  wrote  home  at  once 
for  "a  demi -castor  hatt,  a  good  perrewig,  a  laced  cravatt  and  cuffs, 
a  douzaine  yards  of  ribbons  for  cravatt  and  cuffs,  a  fashionable  and 
handsome  sword  belt,  a  payer  of  silke  stockings,  and  enough  silver 
and  gold  lace  to  lace  my  hatt  round."  It  was  an  expensive  order, 
but  the  lovesick  widower  was  a  man  of  affairs,  for  he  remarks,  in 
a  later  letter,  that  if  the  clothes  failed  to  reach  him  in  time  "  they 
will  not  be  lost  but  will  come  to  a  good  market." 


i86  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE    DEEP. 

Any  agent  can  buy  a  demi-castor  hat  and  a  periwig,  but  there 
are  articles  of  apparel  which  need  a  finer  taste  and  a  more  cultured 
knowledge  of  the  latest  creations  of  fashion  than  a  shipping  agent 
could  be  expected  to  possess.  Fortunately  Christopher  had  a 
sister  who  lived  in  the  very  heart  of  gayest  London.  Her  name 
was  Madam  Brett,  and  her  address  "  Channell  Row,  Westminster, 
near  the  Mum  House."  Such  a  prize  as  1500/.,  together  with  four 
negroes  and  Mistress  Frances  Russell  in  person,  was  not  to  be 
gained  without  cost,  so  Christopher  writes  to  his  worldly  sister, 
"  I  praye  you  send  me  an  embroidered  and  fashionable  waist-belt 
and  let  everything  be  modish  and  creditable,  for  the  better  sort 
in  these  islands  are  great  gallants." 

It  is  easy  to  picture  the  hopeful  widower,  in  his  demi-castor 
hat  decked  with  gold  lace,  his  silk  stockings,  and  the  killing  waist- 
belt  of  Madam  Brett's  choice,  being  rowed  over  to  Nevis  on  the 
first  fine  day  after  the  ship  came  from  England.  He  would  have 
stepped  ashore  very  daintily,  and  after  arranging  his  periwig, 
sword,  and  cuffs  on  the  beach,  would  have  walked  with  a  swagger 
up  to  Government  House,  He  might  have  proposed  to  the  lady 
kneeling  on  that  very  piece  of  Smyrna  carpet  which  was  so  "  large 
and  fine."  As  a  merchant  he  is  almost  sure  to  have  figuratively 
expressed  the  weight  of  his  devotion  in  pounds  of  sugar ;  as 
a  passionate  suitor  he  might  have  damaged  the  new  demi-castor 
hat  by  pressing  it  to  his  chest. 

All  which,  however,  is  pure  surmise.  What  we  do  know  for 
certain  is  that  Mistress  Frances  RusselJ,  aged  fifteen,  gave  this 
poor  gentleman,  who  had  spent  so  much  on  his  clothes,  "  brisque 
denyall."     There  was  an  end  of  it. 

It  was  a  heavy  shock,  and  as  Christopher  was  rowed  back  in 
the  small  boat  to  St.  Kitts  he  must  have  gazed  ruefully  at  his 
new  stockings  already  spotted  by  the  sea,  and  might  have  cal- 
culated to  what  amount  in  indigo  he  would  have  to  debit  himself 
for  this  laceration  of  his  feelings.  The  published  letters  are 
silent  as  to  the  fate  of  the  decided  Miss  Frances,  but  from  the 
same  source  it  is  to  be  gathered  that  Mr.  Jeaffreson  never  quite 
recovered  from  this  "  suddaine  check  in  his  progresse." 


ST.   KITTS    IN   ALL   ITS   GLORY.  187 

St.  Kitts  as  it  advanced  in  prosperity  continued  to  keep  evef 
before  it — heedless  of  hot  suns  and  hurricanes — the  resolve  to  be, 
at  all  costs,  fashionable.  In  entertainments,  in  displays  of  silver 
plate  and  liveries,  in  dress,  in  gewgaws,  in  pure  dandyism,  the 
island  outdid  the  old  country.  On  Nevis  certain  hot  springs  were 
discovered,  close  to  Charles  Town.  Now  a  hot  spring  was 
the  one  thing  needed  to  make  the  islands  a  fitting  resort  for 
people  of  quality,  for  at  the  commencement  of  the  eighteenth 
century  the  life  of  a  man  of  taste  and  breeding  could  not  be 
supported  without  a  spa. 

At  Nevis,  therefore,  a  spa  was  established  ;  and  here,  to  this 
Tunbridge  Wells  of  the  Caribbees,  came  all  the  fashionable  of  the 
West  Indies — the  rich  merchants  with  their  wives  and  daughters, 
the  planters,  the  majors  and  captains  who  were  invalided  or  on 
leave,  and  the  officers  of  any  ship  of  war  that  could  make  an 
excuse  to  anchor  within  sight  of  Booby  Island. 

The  great  people  arrived  in  schooners,  with  heaps  of  luggage 
and  a  tribe  of  black  servants.  From  early  to  late  they  whirled 
round  in  one  unending  circle  of  gaiety.  There  were  morning 
rides  to  the  hills,  picnic  parties  on  Mount  Pleasant,  fishing 
expeditions  to  Newcastle  Bay,  dinners  where  heated  men  with 
loosened  cravats  proposed  the  toast  of  succeeding  beauties,  and 
dances  which  were  kept  up  until  sunrise,  and  indeed  until  the 
ponies  were  brought  round  to  the  door  again. 

This  led  to  many  things — to  strolls  along  the  sands  by  moon- 
light, to  many  a  saunter  to  the  woods  to  look  for  fireflies  that 
were  never  found,  to  many  a  whispered  invitation  to  come  out  on 
the  hill  to  see  the  Southern  Cross  that  was  forgotten  before  the 
hill  was  reached.  Most  memorable  of  all  was  the  full-dress 
parade  after  the  church  service  on  Sunday ;  for  then  "  the 
Clarindas,  Belindas,  and  Elviras  of  the  period  swept  along,  patched 
and  painted,  hooped  and  farthingaled  a  outrance  with  fly  caps, 
top-knots  and  commodes,  tight-laced  bodices,  laced  aprons,  and 
flounced  petticoats,  accompanied  or  followed  by  the  '  pretty 
fellows,'  who  wore  square-tailed  silk  and  velvet  coats  of  all  colours, 
periwigged  and   top-hatted,  silk-stockinged,  and  shoed  with  red- 


i88  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

heeled  shoes,  their  sword-knots  trailing  a  most  on  the  ground,  and 
their  canes  dangling  from  the  fifth  button."  ^ 

Alas  !  all  this  has  passed  away.  The  spa  is  silent  and  in 
ruins.  ^  The  roof  of  the  great  building  has  fallen  in,  while  the 
balconies  and  verandahs,  which  witnessed  so  much  simpering  and 
such  play  of  fans,  have  vanished  to  build  cart-sheds.  Still  to  be 
seen  are  the  ball-room,  the  dining-hall,  the  overgrown  Italian 
garden  with  its  stucco  statuary,  and  the  court  where  the  dowagers 
and  chaperons  gossiped  and  talked  scandal. 

Most  pathetic  of  all  is  the  mounting  stone  by  the  door  where 
the  ponies  waited  ;  a  stone  upon  which  many  a  satin-covered  foot 
has  rested  until  two  strong  arms  outheld  could  lift  a  soft  little 
figure  down  to  the  ground. 

'  Newspaper  account  of  the  year  1707. 

•  Paton's  Down  the  Islands,  page  284  :  London.  188& 


XXXVI. 

STRANGE   WARES. 

There  were  of  course  many  things  wanting  at  St.  Kitts  in  the 
earlier  period  of  its  history.  One  of  the  most  pressing  needs  was 
for  malefactors.  Malefactors  were  not  only  scarce,  but  they  were 
fetching  high  prices,  in  spite  of  the  discount  allowed  on  taking  a 
quantity.  English  malefactors,  it  may  be  explained,  were  in 
demand  at  St.  Kitts  to  fill  situations  as  servants  and  labourers, 
and  to  replenish  the  ranks  of  the  island  army. 

Christopher  Jeaffreson,  he  of  the  demi-castor  hat  and  the 
wounded  heart,  made  heroic  efforts  to  obtain  for  his  island  a 
befitting  consignment  of  criminals.  He  petitioned  the  authorities 
of  Newgate  Prison  for  300  miscreants,  and  almost  wept  for  joy 
when  he  received  the  order  for  the  same. 

But  between  getting  the  order  and  getting  the  actual  footpads, 
rebels  and  shop  thieves  there  is  a  great  gulf  fixed.  Christopher 
found  that  he  had  to  tip  the  chief  gaoler  at  Newgate  in  the  first 
place,  and  to  tip  him  handsomely  or  not  a  convict  would  leave  the 
premises.  This  avaricious  official  wanted  from  45 j.  to  555-.  a 
head  for  each  jail-bird — an  expensive  matter  when  a  covey  of 
300  is  considered.  Worse  than  that,  there  were  underlings  and 
assistant  keepers,  low-looking  men  with  scars  and  black  eyes, 
who  grinned  horribly  at  Jeaffreson  when  he  stepped  into  the 
prison  corridor  after  having  disposed  of  the  chief  gaoler.  These 
people,  like  the  minor  servants  at  a  Swiss  hotel,  also  wanted  to  be 
tipped,  and  hinted  that  they  could  make  themselves  even  more 
offensive  than  they  looked  if  they  were  not  delicately  subsidised. 

Jeaffreson,  after  much  keen  negotiation,  found  it  best  to  regard 
the  consignment  as  mixed  goods,  and  to  take  the  whole  lot,  men, 


I90  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

women  and  children,  in  one  parcel.  In  this  way  he  was  able 
to  obtain  a  cargo  of  malefactors,  including  some  very  prime 
specimens,  as  well  as  many  classed  metaphorically  as  soiled  or 
damaged,  for  the  sum  of  45J-.  a  head.  As  prices  were  ranging  at 
the  time  this  was  considered  to  be  a  genuine  bargain. 

Mr.  Jeaffreson's  difficulties,  however,  were  not  yet  over.  The 
malefactor  trade  has  its  drawbacks.  This  sum  of  45^.  per  head 
did  not  include  delivery  or  carriage.  The  purchaser  was  informed 
that  the  jail-birds  would  be  turned  out  into  the  street  in  front  of 
Newgate  at  a  certain  hour,  and  would  be  (with  the  chief  warder's 
compliments)  at  the  purchaser's  disposal.  This  is  equivalent  to 
assuring  the  buyer  of  a  zoological  collection  that  the  beasts  and 
reptiles  selected  will  be  in  the  road  by  the  gate  of  the  Gardens  at, 
or  about,  a  definite  time. 

Mr.  Jeafifreson  had,  in  fact,  to  see  his  purchases  safely 
conducted  from  Newgate  to  Billingsgate,  where  the  convict  ship 
was  lying.  To  this  end  he  must  needs  engage  a  guard  of  armed 
volunteers.  Some  of  them  would  be  his  own  friends,  others  would 
be  club  acquaintances,  young  bloods  who  were  ready  for  anything, 
odd  soldiers,  footmen,  watermen,  and  no  doubt  mariners  from  the 
convict  vessel.  The  procession  as  it  passed  down  Cheapside  must 
have  been  one  of  the  most  revolting  that  historic  thoroughfare 
ever  saw.  On  either  side  would  be  the  motley  guard,  some  of  the 
young  bloods  not  quite  sober  perhaps,  and  some  of  the  mariners 
already  handy  with  their  cudgels.  In  the  centre  would  be  the 
doomed  men,  handcuffed  and  chained  together. 

A  fearsome  company  they  would  be,  haggard  men,  hatless, 
barefooted  and  unwashed.  Some  would  be  cursing,  some  pray- 
ing, some  singing  snatches  of  pot-house  songs  ;  while  some — 
the  crazy — would  rend  the  air  with  maniacal  laughter.  The 
accompaniment  of  this  hideous  processional  hymn  would  be  the 
tramp  of  the  guard  and  the  clatter  of  the  chains  on  the  cobble- 
stones. There  would  be  boys  running  by  the  side,  eager  to  miss 
nothing ;  and  in  the  moving  crowd  not  a  few  of  the  drunken 
companions  of  the  gang,  who,  as  they  reeled  along,  would 
hiccough  beery  consolation  to  the  voyagers.      There   would  be 


STRANGE   WARES.  191 

slattern  wives  and  weeping  mothers  too,  who  would  try  to  press 
through  the  guard  for  one  last  grip  of  the  manacled  hand.  The 
portly  merchant  would  look  his  sternest  as  the  rabble  went  by ; 
the  little  housewife  who  was  about  her  shopping  would  draw  her 
skirts  aside  and  creep  close  to  the  wall,  while  from  many  a 
window  both  mistress  and  maid  would  gaze  into  the  street  with 
looks  of  loathing,  which  would  soon  change  to  looks  of 
compassion. 

The  malefactors,  when  they  reached  Billingsgate,  were  dropped 
into  barges  and  taken  off  to  the  convict  ship,  to  start  on  a  voyage 
the  horrors  of  which  are  beyond  imagining. 

An  account  of  just  such  a  nightmare  journey  as  they  had 
knowledge  of  has  been  furnished  by  "  one  of  the  sufferers."  He 
who  wrote  the  log  of  this  Ship  of  Sighs  was  one  John  Coad, 
a  carpenter  who  took  part  in  Monmouth's  rebellion,  and  was,  as 
a  consequence,  sentenced  by  Judge  Jeffreys  to  be  transported  to 
the  West  Indian  Islands  with  800  others.^ 

Coad,  still  weak  from  his  wounds,  was  kicked  into  the  hold 
of  a  convict  ship  at  Weymouth  on  October  17,  1685,  near  about 
the  very  year  when  Jeaffreson's  select  party  from  Newgate  were 
starting  westwards.  The  destination  of  the  rebel  carpenter  was 
Jamaica. 

From  his  diary  are  to  be  gathered  the  following  particulars  of 
the  sea  passage.  "  The  master  of  the  ship  shut  99  of  us  under 
deck  in  a  very  small  room,  where  we  could  not  lay  ourselves  down 
without  lying  one  upon  another.  The  hatchway  being  guarded 
with  a  continual  watch  with  blunderbusses  and  hangers,  we  were 
not  suffered  to  go  above  deck  for  air  or  easement."  They  were 
kept  so  short  of  food  as  to  be  nearly  starved.  "  Our  water  also," 
writes  Coad,  "  was  exceeding  corrupt  and  stinking,  and  also  very 
scarce  to  be  had."  This  was  found  to  be  "  a  great  affliction  after 
they  came  into  the  hot  weather." 

The   hold,  being   without   light   or   air,  soon    became  a   fetid 

'  A  Memorandum  of  the  Wonderful  Providences  of  God  to  a  poor  unworthy  creature 
during  the  time  of  the  Duke  of  Monmouth's  Rebellion^  by  John  Coad,  one  of  the 
sufferers:  London,  1849. 


192  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

human  stye  where  filth  fermented.  "  By  which  means  the  ship 
was  soon  infected  with  grievous  and  contagious  diseases,  as  the 
small  pox,  fever,  calenture,  and  the  plague,  with  frightful  botches. 
Of  each  of  these  diseases  several  died,  for  we  lost  of  our  company,' 
continues  the  chronicle,  "  22  men,  and  of  the  sailers  and  free 
passengers  I  know  not  how  many.  .  .  .  Others  were  devoured  with 
lice  till  they  were  almost  at  death's  dore." 

Those  who  know  something  of  the  stifling,  breathless  nights  of 
the  tropics,  can  imagine  what  the  hold  of  this  awful  craft  must 
have  been  when  all  was  dark.  Above  fell  the  dismal  tramp  of 
the  watch  ;  below — as  if  they  were  the  dregs  of  the  stinking  air — 
lay  the  survivors  of  the  ninety-nine.  Some  sang  hymns  and  prayed 
aloud,  says  Coad ;  others  cursed  the  ship  and  the  sea,  the  squire  of 
the  village  who  had  led  them  astray,  and  the  fiendish  judge  who 
had  consigned  them  to  this  pit  of  despair.  Whenever  there  was  a 
lull  in  the  voices  there  would  still  be  the  creaking  of  the  ship,  the 
stertorous  breathing  of  the  dying,  and  the  groans  of  the  sick  who, 
as  the  writer  expresses  it,  "  lay  tumbling  over  the  rest." 

Possibly  when  sleep  had  fallen  upon  many,  a  man,  delirious 
from  small-pox,  would  spring  up,  and  rush  to  and  fro  over  the 
prostrate  bodies  with  fearful  shrieks,  until  he  happily  struck  his 
head  against  a  beam  and  fell  down  senseless. 

Well  may  the  follower  of  Monmouth  exclaim,  "  This  was  the 
straitest  prison  that  ever  I  was  in." 


XXXVII. 

THE   LITTLE   CAPTAIN   OF   THE   *  BOREAS." 

Nevis,  the  co-partner  of  St.  Kitts,  is  a  noteworthy  island.  The 
part  it  has  played  in  the  pursuit  of  fashion  has  been  already 
alluded  to.  Its  most  remarkable  feature  is  its  appearance,  which 
is  conspicuous  by  contrast  rather  than  by  any  specific  lineament. 
The  adjacent  islands  are  irregular,  florid  in  colour,  and  unre- 
strained in  outline  ;  wild  in  their  forests  and  jagged  peaks,  they 
flaunt  an  air  of  profligacy.  Nevis,  on  the  other  hand,  is  prim  and 
neat,  a  dapper  island.  Its  sea  margin  describes  a  decorous  oval. 
Its  surface  is  smooth.  In  its  precise  centre  is  a  precise  hill,  cone- 
shaped  and  modest,  while  at  either  end  of  the  oval  is  a  smaller 
mound  of  the  same  pattern,  as  if  the  three  were  a  set  of  ornaments 
on  a  mantelpiece.  Thus  it  comes  about  that  Nevis  appears  staid, 
old-maidenly  and  most  genteel,  when  compared  with  the  brazen- 
faced islands  around — a  Quakeress  in  a  company  of  Spanish 
dancers. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  memorials  of  Nevis  is  represented 
by  a  letter  written  by  one  young  lady  to  another.  It  was  a  private, 
gossiping  letter,  intended  only  for  one  pair  of  eyes,  yet  it  has 
become  one  of  the  most  famous  documents  of  a  period.  The 
writer  addresses  the  note  from  the  house  of  the  President  or 
Governor  of  Nevis — a  Mr.  Herbert. 

It  reads  as  follows  :  "  We  have  at  last  seen  the  little  captain  of 
the  Boreas,  of  whom  so  much  has  been  said.  He  came  up  just 
before  dinner,  much  heated,  and  was  very  silent.  He  declined 
drinking  any  wine  ;  but  after  dinner,  when  the  President,  as  usual, 
gave  the  three  following  toasts,  'The  King,'  'The  Queen  and 
Royal  Family,'  and  '  Lord  Hood,'  this  strange  man  regularly  filled 

O 


194  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

his  glass  and  observed  that  those  were  always  bumper  toasts  with 
him  ;  which  having  drank,  he  uniformly  passed  the  bottle  and 
relapsed  into  his  former  taciturnity.  It  was  impossible  for  any 
of  us  to  make  out  his  real  character ;  there  was  such  a  reserve  and 
sternness  in  his  behaviour.  Being  placed  by  him,  I  endeavoured 
to  rouse  his  attention  by  showing  him  all  the  civilities  in  my 
power  ;  but  I  drew  out  little  more  than  '  Yes  '  and  '  No.'  If  you, 
Fanny,  had  been  here,  we  think  you  would  have  made  something 
of  him  :  for  you  have  been  in  the  habits  of  attending  to  these  odd 
sort  of  people." 

This  strange,  silent  mariner,  who  only  said  "  Yes  "  and  "  No," 
who  would  neither  talk  nor  drink,  but  who  jumped  up  promptly 
and  tossed  off  a  bumper  at  the  mention  of  the  words  "  The  King," 
was  Horatio  Nelson.  The  "  Fanny "  to  whom  the  letter  was 
written  was  Mrs,  Frances  Nisbet,  the  young  widow  of  Dr.  Nisbet, 
late  physician  of  Nevis.  In  what  way  she  was  qualified — as  her 
friend  declares — to  attend  to  such  odd  sort  of  person  as  the  captain 
of  the  Boreas  we  are  not  informed.  Certain  it  is  that  she  possessed 
the  ability  to  make  "  something  of  him  "  for  she  married  him. 

Nelson  appears  to  have  been  often  at  the  island,  and  to  have 
been  very  friendly  with  the  President.  He  met  Mrs.  Nisbet  in 
1786  at  Nevis,  and  at  Nevis  the  two  were  wedded  on  March  11, 
1787.  Nelson  at  this  period  is  described  as  "  the  meerest  boy  of  a 
captain,"  who  dressed  "  in  a  full  laced  uniform,  an  old-fashioned 
waistcoat  with  long  flaps,  and  his  lank  unpowdered  hair  tied  in  a 
stiff  Hessian  tail  of  extraordinary  length."  The  marriage  took 
place  privately  at  a  house  called  Montpelier,  some  way  from 
Charles  Town.  Of  this  mansion  nothing  now  remains  but  a  "  few 
trees  and  a  little  ruined  masonry  at  the  corner  of  a  sugar-cane 
plantation."  ^ 

Not  far  from  Montpelier  is  the  Church  of  St,  John,  Figtree. 
The  church  is  a  small  plain  building  of  stone,  of  the  cemetery 
chapel  type,  and  with  no  architectural  ornament  but  a  bell  gable. 
In  its  register  is  a  record  of  the  Nelson  marriage  in  the  following 
words : 

'    Eden  Phillpotts,  In  Sugar  Cane  Land ;  London,  1S93. 


THE   LITTLE   CAPTAIN    OF  THE   "BOREAS."    195 

"1787.  March  11.  Horatio  Nelson,  Esquire,  Captain  of  his 
Majesty's  Ship,  the  Boreas,  to  Frances  Herbert  Nisbet,  Widow." 

This  is  in  no  sense  a  marriage  certificate,  for  the  ceremony  did 
not  take  place  in  the  church  ;  it  is  neither  signed  nor  attested,  and 
is  merely  a  note  of  an  occurrence  in  the  parish. 

On  a  slope  of  the  hill  immediately  behind  Charles  Town  are  a 
few  ruined  walls  and  some  remains  of  a  terraced  garden.  These 
are  the  sole  relics  of  the  mansion  in  which  Alexander  Hamilton 
was  born  on  January  11,  1757.  His  father  was  a  Scots  merchant 
who  had  married  a  French  lady.  Young  Alexander  left  Nevis  at 
the  age  of  eleven  to  become  for  ever  famous  as  "  the  precocious 
youth  who  penned  the  first  draft  of  the  constitution  of  the  United 
States." 


08 


196  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE    DEEP. 


XXXVIII. 

THE   ENVIRONS   OF   ST.    KITTS. 

There  are  some  very  curious  islands  round  about  St.  Kitts.  On  the 
voyage  north  from  Domenica,  for  example,  the  steamer  passes 
close  to  the  great  rock  Redonda,  a  smooth,  pale  fabric  of  stone 
rising  out  of  the  sea,  like  the  dome  of  some  immense  submarine 
hall,  whose  span  is  a  mile.  It  reaches  to  the  height — according 
to  the  Admiralty  chart — of  looo  feet.  It  is  as  bare  as  a  pebble, 
but  has  boasted  of  as  many  as  eighteen  inhabitants  at  one  time, 
the  same  being  engaged  in  the  exporting  of  phosphate  of  alumina. 

Close  to  the  rock  is  the  very  beautiful  and  healthy  island  of 
Montserrat,  colonised  by  the  famous  Warner,  of  St.  Kitts.  It  is 
a  peculiarity  of  this  island  that  the  negroes  speak  with  a  rich 
Irish  brogue.  This  phenomenon  is  explained  by  the  fact  that  in 
the  seventeenth  century  the  colony  was  peopled  almost  entirely  by 
Irish.  The  pious  care  with  which  this  attractive  dialect  has  been 
preserved  (or  over  200  years  is  illustrated  by  Ober  in  the  following 
incident. 

An  Irishman  fresh  from  Donegal  arrives  at  Montserrat,  and 
leaning  over  the  steamer's  rail  addresses  himself,  in  the  following 
terms,  to  a  coal-black  nigger  who  has  come  alongside  with 
provisions. 

"  Say,  Cuffee,  phwat's  the  chance  for  a  lad  ashore  ?  " 

"  Good,  yer  honor,  if  ye're  not  afraid  of  wurruk.  But  me  name's 
not  Cuffee,  an',  plase  ye,  it's  Pat  Mulvaney." 

"  Mulvaney  ?     And  do  yer  mean  to  say  ye're  Oirish  ?" 

«  Oi  do." 

•  The  saints  dayfind  us.  An'  how  long  have  yer  been  out 
here  ?  " 


THE   ENVIRONS   OF   ST.   KITTS.  197 

"  A  matter  uv  tin  year  or  so." 

"  Tin  year !  An'  yez  black  as  me  hat !  Save  me  sowl,  I  tuk 
yez  for  a  naygur."  ^ 

To  the  east  of  the  great  rock  Redonda  is  Antigua.  This 
charming  island  is  said  to  be  pleasant  to  live  in  and  to  possess 
scenery  very  like  that  of  England.  It  was  here  that  Bartholomew 
Sharp  in  The  Most  Blessed  Trinity  ended  his  great  but  most 
unsanctified  voyage  (page  55).  The  history  of  Antigua  is  full  of 
interesting  incidents.  Not  the  least  curious  of  these  is  associated 
with  the  life  and  times  of  Daniel  Park,  who  in  the  days  of  good 
Queen  Anne  was  her  Majesty's  representative  in  the  island. 
That  there  was  "  something  against "  this  gentleman,  and  that  he 
failed  to  win  the  affection  and  esteem  of  the  islanders,  may  be 
inferred  from  the  following  allusion  to  his  arrival  at  Antigua. 
This  event  is  spoken  of  as  the  occasion  when  "  that  abominable 
and  atrocious  governor,  Daniel  Park,  arrived  to  blast  for  a  time 
with  his  unhallowed  breath  this  beautiful  island." 

An  exhaustive  estimate  of  Park's  character  is  hardly  to  be 
deduced  from  the  accident  of  his  "  unhallowed  breath,"  but  is 
rather  to  be  based  upon  a  study  of  his  social  qualities  as  a  whole. 
These  were  quite  remarkable.  He  was  a  Virginian  who,  having 
committed  murder  at  a  gambling  table,  deserted  his  wife  and  fled 
to  England.  Here,  listening  to  the  promptings  of  his  heart.  Park 
realised  that  he  had  so  far  mistaken  his  vocation,  and  that  he  was 
by  nature  fitted  to  become  an  English  country  gentleman.  Under 
this  conviction  he  at  once  purchased  an  estate  and  was  by  the 
honest  electors  of  the  district  returned  as  their  member  of 
Parliament.  It  would  seem,  however,  that  he  was  not  destined 
to  be  a  politician,  for  he  was  promptly  expelled  from  the  House 
of  Commons  for  bribery.  Feeling  that  he  was  still  misunderstood 
he  fled  to  Holland,  incidentally  pursued  by  a  captain  of  the 
Queen's  Guard  whose  wife  he  had  dishonoured.  He  here  joined 
the  forces  of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough,  and  was  so  highly  appre- 
ciated by  that  general  that  he  appointed  him  his  aide-de-camp. 

Circumstances  arose  which  made  it  necessary  that  this  versatile 

'  Our  Weil  Indian  Neighbors,  by  F.  A.  Ober  :  New  York,  1904. 


198  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

man  should  be  dismissed  from  the  British  Army,  and,  to  render 
the  process  as  Httle  trying  to  his  feelings  as  possible,  he  was  sent 
to  England  with  the  news  of  the  victory  at  Blenheim.  Whether 
he  was  met  by  a  deputation  of  his  late  constituents  and  tenants 
headed  by  the  captain  of  the  Queen's  Guard  is  not  known,  for  no 
ballad  records  "  How  Park  brought  the  good  news  to  London." 
Queen  Anne,  however,  was  so  gratified  by  the  announcement 
of  the  victory  that  she  forthwith  made  the  much-travelled  Daniel 
her  governor  in  Antigua.  Here,  in  Government  House,  Park 
seems  to  have  developed  the  "  unhallowed  breath "  which  for 
a  time  at  least  was  destined  to  blast  the  island.  His  career  as 
a  colonial  administrator  was  short,  and  is  summed  up  in  the 
following  words,  "  he  lost  no  time  in  provoking  a  riot  in  which 
he  was  killed  by  a  mob  who,  exasperated  by  his  crimes,  literally 
tore  him  to  pieces  in  the  street."  If  Park  was  a  man  who  had 
yearnings  for  a  quiet  and  simple  life  his  ambition  was  never 
attained. 

The  traveller  on  his  way  from  St.  Kitts  to  the  next  port  of  call, 
St.  Thomas,  will  pass  close  to  the  islands  of  St.  Eustatius 
and  Saba.  St.  Eustatius — generally  called  Statia  for  short — is 
a  little  Dutch  island  with  a  remarkable  past.  It  consists  of  two 
crater  cones  with  less  hilly  ground  between  them.  The  main 
mountain  is  1950  feet  high,  is  wonderfully  symmetrical,  and, 
being  all-predominating,  gives  to  the  island  its  gracious  pyramidal 
outline.  The  symmetry  of  the  hill  would  be  complete  were  it  not 
that  the  southern  slope  is  broken  off  abruptly  at  the  sea  margin, 
leaving  a  bare  white  cliff,  900  feet  high,  called  the  White  Wall. 

The  only  town  is  Orange  Town,  which  lies  partly  on  the  beach 
and  partly  on  the  cliffs  adjacent.  The  two  divisions  communicate 
by  a  long,  steep,  sloping  road.  On  the  brink  of  the  cliff  stands 
an  ancient  and  ruinous  fort.  Fort  Orange,  where  still,  it  is  said, 
a  few  rusty  and  dismounted  cannon  are  to  be  found  among  the 
cactus  and  acacia.  Recent  visitors  to  the  island  speak  of  the  town 
as  poverty-stricken,  dilapidated,  and  melancholy,  its  church  and 
chief  houses  as  decayed,  and  its  business  as  well-nigh  invisible. 
Along  the  beach  in  its  whole  length,  are  the  ruins  of  warehouses 


THE   ENVIRONS   OF   ST.   KITTS.  199 

and  stores,  together  with  other  relics  of  what  must  have  been 
an  immense  shipping  trade.  These  scattered  ruins,  as  the  Wesi 
India  Pilot  remarks,  "  attract  attention  on  first  landing." 

Now  it  will  scarcely  be  believed  that  this  barren  rock  of 
an  island,  with  its  sleepy  and  dejected  town,  once  rivalled  the 
prosperity  of  Tyre  and  Sidon.  Yet  the  biographer  of  Rodney 
states  that  such  was  its  state  for  at  least  some  glorious  months.^ 
Still  more  astonishing  is  a  statement  in  the  "  Annual  Register  "  that 
at  the  foot  of  this  crater  cone  standing  out  of  the  sea,  was  once 
held  "  one  of  the  greatest  auctions  that  ever  was  opened  in  the 
universe."  If  the  Auctioneers'  Institute  have  not  the  island 
of  St.  Eustatius  as  its  crest,  it  is  only  because  the  members  of  that 
body  have  failed  to  realise  the  crowning  magnificence  of  the  sale 
of  goods  once  held  at  Orange  Town. 

Statia  became  the  rival  of  Tyre  and  Sidon  and  the  paradise 
of  the  auctioneer  after  the  following  manner.  Just  before  the 
outbreak  of  war  between  England  and  her  American  colonies 
commercial  affairs  in  the  West  Indies  were  so  hampered 
by  enactments  that  trading  of  any  sort  became  practically 
impossible.  The  Dutch,  with  a  ready  eye  to  business,  made 
St.  Eustatius  a  free  port.  The  result  was  to  throw  the  whole 
of  the  trade  between  England  or  her  West  Indies  and  the 
American  plantations  into  the  market-place  of  Orange  Town. 
When  the  French  sided  with  the  Americans  their  merchants  also 
made  all  haste  for  the  astonished  island. 

Statia,  however,  did  not  draw  the  line  at  legitimate  buying 
and  selling.  It  became  the  great  depot  of  contraband  of  war, 
a  smuggling  centre  and  an  arsenal  for  both  the  American  and  the 
French  forces.  Dutch  men-of-war  convoyed  American  privateers  ; 
American  cargo  ships  carried  Dutch  papers.  Goods  poured  in 
from  Europe  every  day  in  the  week,  while  planters  on  the 
neighbouring  islands,  both  French  and  English,  thought  it  well 
to  hurry  their  possessions  off  to  Statia  for  safer  keeping. 

The  result  was  that  the  island  became  such  a  storehouse  as  the 
world  has  never  seen.     All  day  long  and  for  most  of  the  night 

'  Rodney,  by  David  Hannay,  page  151  :  London,  1891. 


200  THE    CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

boats  were  toiling  through  the  surf  which  ever  breaks  on  the  Httle 
beach  before  Orange  Town.  More  than  a  hundred  merchant 
ships  at  a  time  would  be  swinging  to  their  anchors  in  the  once 
deserted  roadstead.  Warehouses  were  erected  line  after  line  along 
the  sands.  The  carpenters'  hammers  almost  drowned  the  shouts 
of  the  seamen,  stevedores,  and  slaves  who  struggled  in  a  mob 
along  the  water's  edge.  Bags,  boxes,  and  bales  were  stacked 
in  the  street  for  want  of  room  in  the  sheds.  Merchants  and 
clerks,  hot  and  perspiring,  were  busy  from  sunrise  to  sundown. 
A  pile  of  tea  chests  in  the  road  had  to  serve  as  an  office  table, 
while  every  pocket  was  stuffed  with  invoices,  bills  of  lading, 
letters,  ship  chandlers'  accounts,  and  miscellaneous  samples. 

Jews  flocked  to  the  fray.  The  market-place  was  made 
deafening  by  voices,  yelling  in  Dutch,  English,  French,  and 
Spanish,  until  the  great  pyramid  that  rose  above  the  roofs  might 
have  belonged  to  the  Tower  of  Babel. 

This  abnormal  development  of  the  island  was  not  appreciated 
by  the  English,  and  so,  on  February  3,  1781,  Rodney  came  down 
upon  the  dismayed  Orange  Town  and  possessed  himself  of  it  and 
all  that  it  contained.  It  contained  a  great  deal — goods  to  the 
value  of  four  million  pounds  sterling,  to  say  nothing  of  the  150 
merchantmen  lying  in  the  bay.  "  The  Jews  were  stripped  to  the 
skin  and  sent  packing.  The  Dutch  had  surrendered  at  discretion 
and  were  treated  after  the  manner  of  Alaric.  To  the  French, 
who  were  open  enemies,  Rodney  showed  more  consideration. 
They  were  allowed  to  go  with  bag  and  baggage." '  Then  began 
the  great  sale,  the  sale  of  four  million  pounds'  worth  of  goods 
without  reserve,  the  great  auction  of  the  universe.  In  this  wise 
St.  Eustatius  became  the  scene  of  the  apotheosis  of  the  auctioneer. 

After  all  the  purchases  had  been  cleared  away,  after  the  last 
ship  had  set  sail,  and  after  the  streets  had  become  empty  and  still, 
the  exhausted  inhabitants  returned  to  the  selling  of  yams.  As 
they  gazed  down  from  the  cliff  upon  the  long  row  of  deserted 
warehouses,  and  upon  the  awful  litter  on  the  beach,  they  must 
have  felt  that  the  little  island  had  at  least  had  its  day. 

'  Rodney,  by  David  Haiinay,  page  154  :  London,  1891. 


XXXIX. 

SABA  THE  ASTONISHING. 

Close  to  St.  Eustatius  is  the  island  of  Saba,  a  place  so  curious 
that  it  must  rank  with  the  islands  of  romance  and  not  with  things 
of  this  world.  It  is  small  and  round,  has  a  diameter  of  two  miles, 
and  belongs  to  the  Dutch.  It  is  the  pinnacle  of  a  volcanic 
mountain  of  which  only  the  peak  and  crater  emerge  from  the  sea. 
Possessing  no  beach,  Saba  is,  in  the  words  of  the  mariner,  "  bold 
and  steep-to  "  all  round.  Its  circuit  indeed  is  that  of  the  wall  of 
some  Cyclopean  fortress.  As  "  in  general  a  heavy  surf  breaks  all 
along  the  shore "  it  is  not  a  place  to  land  at,  landing  being 
indeed  "  extremely  difficult  and  often  dangerous," 

Possessing  no  harbour  nor  anything  approaching  the  same, 
Saba  has  yet  a  harbour  master  among  its  high  officials.  Possessing 
no  springs,  "  the  inhabitants  chiefly  depend  on  rain  water  caught 
in  tanks."  '  There  are  no  roads  in  Saba  for  it  is  "  a  mass  of 
rugged  mountains,  with  deep  and  precipitous  ravines,  through  and 
over  which  are  only  foot-paths  from  house  to  house."  ^  Unlike 
any  other  West  Indian  island,  the  majority  of  the  population  are 
white,  and  "  not  only  white,"  writes  Ober,  "  but  Dutch,  the  good 
old-fashioned  kind,  with  blue  eyes,  freckled,  sandy  complexion 
and  flaxen  hair."  The  inhabitants  being  Dutch  speak  English  as 
their  native  tongue.  The  only  town  in  Saba  is  on  the  mountain 
top,  and  being  so  placed  it  is  called  Bottom.  In  this  nomen- 
clature the  founders  of  the  colony  have  evidently  followed  the 
weaver  in  "  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  who,  speaking  of  his 
vision,  says  "  it  shall  be  called  Bottom's  Dream  because  it  hath  no 
bottom." 

'    IVesi  India  Pilot,  vol.  ii.  page  149  :  London,  1899.  '  Ibid.  loc.  cit. 


202  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

Now  the  city  of  Bottom  can  hardly  be  said,  in  the  terms  even 
of  the  speculative  builder,  to  occupy  an  eligible  site,  for  it  is 
placed  inside  the  crater.  If  the  citizens  wish  to  gaze  upon  the 
sea  they  must  climb  to  the  rim  of  the  crater,  as  flies  would  crawl 
to  the  edge  of  a  tea  cup,  and  look  over.  They  will  see  the  ocean 
directly  below  them,  at  the  foot  of  a  precipice  some  1 300  feet  high. 
To  go  down  to  the  sea  it  is  necessary  to  take  a  path  with  a  slope 
like  the  roof  of  a  house,  and  then  to  descend  the  Ladder,  an 
appalling  stair  on  the  side  of  the  cliff  marked  at  the  steepest  part 
by  steps  cut  out  of  the  face  of  the  rock.  There  are  many  people 
who  would  die  rather  than  face  the  Ladder.  Some  would 
probably  die  if  they  did  face  it,  but  then  Saba  does  not  lay  itself 
out  to  attract  visitors. 

Mr.  Ober  has  given  an  account  of  his  arrival  at  Saba.  He 
reached  the  island  at  night  in  a  drogher.  "At  last,"  he  writes, 
"  we  got  in  near  enough  to  launch  a  boat,  into  which  I  was 
tumbled,  together  with  my  belongings.  Two  stalwart  black  men 
pulled  it  within  hail  of  the  shore,  and  then,  instead  of  landing, 
they  split  the  darkness  with  shouts  for  help,  yelling  to  some 
invisible  person  in  the  clouds  to  '  Come  down.'  The  boat  shot 
ahead  with  terrific  speed  straight  for  the  rocks,  and  just  as  the 
shock  of  the  impact  with  those  rocks  sent  me  tumbling  head  over 
heels,  a  strong  arm  seized  me,  yanked  me  out  unceremoniously, 
and  set  me  upright  at  the  base  of  the  cliff.  So  there  I  was,  alone 
with  several  strange  folk,  number  undetermined,  until  a  lantern 
was  lighted,  when  it  was  reduced  from  a  multitude  to  two.  They 
were  black,  both  of  them,  and  evidently  friendly,  for,  after  piling 
my  luggage  at  the  foot  of  the  precipice,  they  took  me  by  the  arms 
and  guided  me  to  what  they  called  the  '  Ladder,'  which  was 
a  narrow  trail  up  the  side  of  the  said  precipice.  It  was  fortunate 
for  my  shattered  nerves  that  the  darkness  hid  the  dangers  of  that 
trail  from  sight,  for  when  I  afterwards  saw  it  by  daylight,  no 
money  would  have  tempted  me  to  essay  it."  ^ 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  provisions  and  goods  destined  for  Bottom 
have  to  be  brought  up  the  Ladder,  so  that  if  one  of  the  fair-haired 

'   Our  West  Indian  Neighbors,  page  271  :  New  York,  1 904. 


SABA   THE   ASTONISHING.  203 

maidens  ordered  a  grand  piano,  it  would  be  delivered  to  her  by 
that  particular  route.  Hill,  in  his  work  on  Cuba  and  Puerto  Rico, 
gives  a  photograph  of  the  city  of  Bottom.  It  consists  of  a 
number  of  small  and  tidy  houses  dotted  about  among  a  perfect 
maze  of  stone  walls.  There  are  gardens  around  some  of  the 
dwellings,  but  the  metropolis,  regarded  generally,  has  the  reckless 
aspect  to  be  expected  of  a  town  situated  in  a  crater,  and  connected 
with  the  outer  world  by  such  an  approach  as  the  Ladder. 

Living  aloft  in  their  volcano,  in  a  summit  city  called  Bottom, 
these  simple  Dutch  people  who  speak  English  reach  the  extreme 
of  the  improbable  in  the  nature  of  their  staple  industry.  They  do 
not  make  balloons  nor  kites.  They  are  not  astronomers,  nor  are 
they  engaged  in  extracting  nitrogen  from  the  atmosphere.  They 
are,  of  all  things  in  the  world,  shipbuilders,  and  shipbuilders  of 
such  merit  that  their  boats  and  small  craft  are  famous  all  over  the 
Windward  Islands.  Let  it  be  noted  that  fishing  smacks  are  not 
only  built  in  a  crater,  but  on  an  island  which  has  neither  beach, 
harbour,  landing  stage,  nor  safe  anchoring  ground,  where  no 
timber  is  produced,  where  no  iron  is  to  be  found,  and  where 
cordage  is  not  made.  The  island  has  indeed,  except  in  the 
matter  of  size,  no  more  facilities  for  the  development  of  the  ship- 
building trade  than  has  a  rock  lighthouse.  The  production  of 
ships  from  craters  is  hardly  less  wonderful  than  the  gathering  of 
grapes  from  thorns  or  figs  from  thistles. 

When  the  Saba  ship  is  finished  it  is  lowered  down  the  side  of 
the  cliff,  and  has  then  apparently  to  shift  for  itself  The  women, 
no  doubt,  wave  handkerchiefs  from  the  rim  of  the  crater  as  the 
craft  takes  the  sea,  while  the  boys  are  told  not  to  play  with  stones 
lest  they  should  fall  upon  their  fathers'  heads.  After  all  the 
excitement  of  the  launch  is  over,  one  can  imagine  the  master- 
builder  climbing  up  the  Ladder  to  his  crater  home,  as  full  of  pride 
as  his  shortness  of  breath  will  allow. 


204       THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP 


XL. 

ST.   THOMAS. 

Another  dawn,  another  dim  island  taking  shape  out  of  the  mist, 
another  blue  bay  in  a  circle  of  hills,  and  the  steamer  drops  her 
anchor  with  a  splash  in  the  harbour  of  St.  Thomas. 

St.  Thomas  is  a  Danish  island  that  has  seen  better  days.  It  is 
one  of  the  Virgin  Group,  a  cluster  of  some  hundred  islands,  rocks 
and  cays.  Columbus  named  them  after  St.  Ursula  and  her  virgins, 
and  would  no  doubt  have  given  saintly  names  to  the  entire 
hundred,  but  the  buccaneers  who  haunted  these  regions  have  left 
their  mark  rather  than  his  in  such  titles  as  Rum  Island,  Dead 
Man's  Chest,  Salt  Water  Money  Rock,  Fallen  Jerusalem, 
Flanagan's  Pass,  and  the  like. 

They  are  wild,  inhospitable  islands,  the  most  savage  of  which 
is  Anegada,  or  the  Drowned  Island,  thus  called  because  it  is 
water-logged  with  lagoons  and  is  so  low-lying  as  to  be  almost 
sea-swept  in  times  of  storm.  Yet  this  amphibious  place  has  a 
population  of  450.  It  has  been  the  scene  of  countless  wrecks, 
since  around  it  is  the  deadly  and  much-accursed  Horse  Shoe 
Reef. 

It  was  Anegada  that  brought  to  an  end  the  sea  rovings  of  that 
wild,  impetuous  Don  Quixote  who  was  "  like  a  perpetual  motion," 
Prince  Rupert  of  the  Rhine.  He  started  from  Ireland  in  1648, 
with  seven  ships,  to  champion  the  cause  of  the  king  in  the  far 
west.  He  sailed  m  the  Swallow  and,  finding  few  opportunities 
for  legitimate  battle,  took  to  pirating.  He  was  a  man  who  must 
always  be  doing  something.  Even  when  he  was  in  prison  at 
Linz,  in  his  early  days,  he  managed  to  learn  drawing  and  make 
love  to  the  governor's  daughter.     After  five  years  on  the  sea,  more 


ST.   THOMAS.  205 

full  of  adventure  than  has  been  the  life  of  any  corsair  before  or 
since,  he  was  caught  in  a  storm  off  the  Virgin  Islands  one  night 
in  September.  Here  on  the  dire  shore  of  Anegada  his  fleet  was 
wrecked.  His  brother,  Prince  Maurice,  was  lost  with  his  ship 
Defiance ;  the  Honest  Seaman  was  cast  away,  and  the  only  survivor 
of  the  dare-devil  argosy  was  the  Swallow.  She  crept  home  sadly 
crippled,  and  gained  the  coast  of  France  in  1653,  but  "  was  too  far 
spent  and  never  put  to  sea  again."  The  handsome,  clever,  wilful 
prince,  who  was  ever  "  very  sparkish  in  his  dress,"  lived  till  1682, 
to  die  in  his  bed  in  Spring  Gardens  of  a  commonplace  fever. 

Charlotte  Amalia,  the  capital  of  St.  Thomas,  is  without  any 
question  the  most  picturesque  town  in  the  whole  sweep  of  the 
Windward  Islands.  Placed  within  a  magnificent  harbour,  and  at 
the  foot  of  a  circle  of  green  hills,  Charlotte  Amalia  makes  there  a 
bravery  of  colour.  The  town  is  built  about  three  rounded  spurs 
which  jut  out  from  the  mountain's  base.  It  seems,  therefore,  to  be 
made  up  of  three  towns  joined  along  the  sea  margin,  each  of  the 
three  a  cone  of  bright  habitations  reared  against  the  dull  green  of 
the  hill. 

The  walls  of  the  houses  which  are  thus  piled  one  above  the 
other  are,  for  the  most  part,  a  dazzling  white.  Some  are  yellow 
or  grey  or  orange  ;  certain  of  them  are  blue.  The  roofs  are  always 
a  generous  bright  red.  Between  the  houses  and  overshadowing 
the  roofs  are  clumps  of  green  trees.  Here  and  there  can  be  seen 
stone  stairs  climbing  up  through  the  town,  gardens  with  creeper- 
covered  walls,  a  tufted  palm,  a  many-arched  arcade,  the  balustrades 
of  shady  terraces.  Viewed  from  the  sea  Charlotte  Amalia  would 
seem  to  be  a  place  for  those  who  make  holiday — all  gaily  tinted 
villas  and  palaces,  where  the  factory  chimney,  the  warehouse,  and 
the  woful  suburb  are  unknown. 

Viewed  at  close  quarters  it  is  a  little  less  charming.  A  long, 
level  street,  clean  and  bright,  runs  from  one  end  of  the  settlement 
to  the  other.  The  remaining  streets  are  engaged  in  clambering  up 
the  sides  of  the  three  hills.  The  town  contains  many  handsome 
buildings,  a  few  of  which  are  dignified  by  age,  together  with  shops 
and  stores  of  the  colonial  type  which  breathe  generally  the  odour 


2o6  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

of  bay  rum.  The  names  of  the  streets  are  in  Danish,  as  are  also 
certain  official  notices,  but  with  these  exceptions  there  is  little  to 
suggest  a  colony  of  Denmark.  The  language  of  the  people  is 
English,  the  newspaper  is  in  English,  while  the  determination  of 
the  islanders  to  profess  that  tongue  is  shown  in  the  following 
tavern  wall  announcement  which  faces  the  stranger  on  landing  : 

"  Cool  sherbert  and  other  such  sippings." 

The  island  itself— as  surveyed  from  the  summit  of  the  hill 
above  the  town — is  a  little  desolate.  The  country  appears  to  be 
uninhabited,  given  up  to  loneliness  and  allowed  to  grow  wild.  It 
is  covered  everywhere  with  low  bushes,  as  if  the  land  had  relapsed 
again  into  savagery.  At  one's  feet,  looking  northwards,  is  a 
most  enchanting  sandy  cove,  bordered  by  a  circle  of  white  foam 
where  it  meets  the  sea.  This  is  just  such  a  solitary  beach  as 
Robinson  Crusoe  might  have  found  himself  upon,  and  just  such  a 
stretch  of  sand  as  that  on  which  he  discovered  the  footprints  of 
Friday.  Far  away  are  some  rugged  islands,  which  seem  to  belong 
to  a  world  from  which  man  has  long  departed.  These  are  the 
rocky  islets  of  Tobago,  Hans  Lollik,  and  Jost  van  Dyke. 

St.  Thomas  once  had  an  evil  reputation  for  unhealthiness. 
The  cemetery  in  the  town  testifies  that  this  was  not  unmerited, 
and  that  there  were  some  grounds  for  Kingsley's  description  of 
the  place  as  "  a  Dutch  oven  for  cooking  fever  in."  Now,  thanks 
to  enlightened  sanitary  measures,  it  can  claim  to  be  a  quite 
wholesome  settlement. 

The  hospital  of  St.  Thomas  is  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town. 
It  is  a  hospital  of  seventy  beds,  maintained  by  the  Government, 
but  at  the  same  time  very  generously  dowered  by  the  good 
Queen  of  Denmark.  The  majority  of  patients  are  negroes  of  an 
unsavoury  type,  who  seem  to  be  the  subjects  of  only  such 
disorders  as  are  obtrusively  unpleasant.  Many  are  insane  or 
paralysed — for  rum  is  cheap  in  St.  Thomas.  Many  are  the 
victims  of  loathsome,  long-neglected  sores.  It  is  a  depressing 
place,  even  for  a  hospital,  a  dreary  yard  surrounded  by  low, 
one-storied  buildings,  with  corrugated  iron  roofs.     Yet  everything 


ST.   THOMAS.  207 

is  clean  and  in  perfect  order,  while  the  care  of  the  sick  is  above 
criticism. 

Moving  busily  from  hut  to  hut  in  the  compound  is  a  bright, 
happy-looking  Danish  lady.  She  is  the  good  genius  of  the  dismal 
square,  the  matron,  the  nurse,  the  friend,  the  comforter.  With  the 
exception  of  a  servant  she  is  the  only  white  woman  in  this  refuge 
for  the  miserable.  She  lives  here  alone,  cut  off  from  all  the 
reasonable  joys  of  life,  uncomplaining,  undaunted,  a  rare  and 
heroic  figure.  The  sick  people  to  whom  she  devotes  her  life  are 
Danish  subjects,  fed  and  housed  by  Denmark,  but  they  neither 
speak  the  language  of  the  country  which  fosters  them,  nor  have 
they,  it  would  seem,  the  least  concern  in  its  existence.  Dirty  for 
the  most  part,  ill  to  manage,  not  free  from  sordidness,  they  are 
ungracious  and  ungrateful,  and  yet  to  their  care  this  noble  woman 
devotes  ungrudgingly  her  sympathy,  her  motherliness,  her  con- 
summate skill. 

At  Scutari  the  "  Lady  of  the  Lamp  "  moved  through  grateful 
wards  with  the  eyes  of  her  country  upon  her.  Here,  in  an 
obscure  hospital  in  a  far-off  island,  a  sister  of  mercy  ministers  to 
unheroic  sick  who  own  her  not,  who  will  not  call  themselves  her 
countrymen,  and  who  see  not  in  her  smiling  face  the  graciousness 
of  self-sacrifice. 


2o8  THE   CRADLE    OF   THE    DEEP. 


XLI. 

MEMOIRS    OF    EDWARD   TEACH,   MARINER. 

On  the  respective  summits  of  two  of  the  hills  of  Charlotte  Amalia 
there  stands  a  castle.  The  larger  is  called  Blue  Beard's  Castle, 
the  smaller  Black  Beard's.  It  is  claimed  that  they  were  the 
strongholds  of  pirates  distinguished  by  those  names.  St.  Thomas 
was  certainly  a  favourite  haunt  of  the  buccaneer,  and,  although  the 
sea  rover  had  little  leisure  for  building  castles,  he  was  not  above 
occupying  premises  erected  by  others. 

The  two  strong  places  in  question  are  round  towers  of 
undoubted  antiquity,  each  with  a  maximum  of  wall  and  a 
minimum  of  window.  Blue  Beard's  Castle  has  the  appearance  of 
a  fortress  or  refuge  of  the  block-house  type,  but  the  castle  of 
Black  Beard  is  singularly  suggestive  of  a  stone  windmill  deprived 
of  its  wooden  caps  and  sails.  It  would  be  little  short  of  profanity 
to  hint  that  this  pirate's  lair  is  no  more  than  a  discarded  mill,  for 
the  people  of  the  island,  although  hazy  in  their  details,  are  firm  in 
the  belief  that  the  tower  was  the  fastness  of  Black  Beard,  the 
corsair.  Of  Blue  Beard  nothing  whatever  is  known,  nor  do  even 
the  sellers  of  postcards  suggest  that  he  was  in  any  way  connected 
with  the  famous  autocrat  of  the  nursery  tale.  Black  Beard,  how- 
ever, was  a  definite  character,  a  pirate  of  pirates,  who  in  the  early 
part  of  the  eighteenth  century  was  the  terror  of  the  Caribbean 
Sea.  I  can  find  no  evidence  that  he  ever  held  the  mill-like  tower 
which  keeps  green  his  memory  in  St.  Thomas,  but  it  would  be 
rank  heresy  to  suppose  that  such  evidence  is  not  forthcoming. 

Black  Beard's  non-professional  name  was  Edward  Teach. 
He  was  a  native  of  Bristol,  and  a  mariner.  In  the  pursuit  of  his 
calling  he  came  to  Jamaica,  where,  it  may  be  assumed,  he  was  led 


MEMOIRS    OF   EDWARD    TEACH,    MARINER.     209 

astray  by  evil  companions,  picked  up  in  the  taverns  of  Port  Royal. 
Anyhow,  in  17 16  Master  Teach  took  to  pirating.  It  is  claimed 
that  when  a  man  adopts  a  calling  he  should  strive  with  all  his 
might  to  excel  in  it.  Edward  was  evidently  influenced  by  this 
teaching,  and  acted  upon  it,  with  the  result  that  he  attained  to  the 
very  highest  distinction  in  his  profession.  Indeed,  such  were  his 
ability  and  application  that  in  two  short  years  he  rose  to  the 
position  of  the  world's  greatest  pirate.  In  this  anxious  and 
dangerous  vocation  he  is  without  an  equal.  The  stage  pirate  with 
black  ringlets  and  a  belt  full  of  knives,  who  sits  on  a  gunpowder 
cask  and  scatters  murder  aimlessly  around  him,  is  a  mere  babe 
and  suckling  to  Edward  Teach. 

This  highly  depraved  mariner  was  no  mere  cut-throat,  how- 
ever :  he  was  the  Napoleon  of  scoundreldom.  There  is  a  portrait 
of  him  in  Johnson's  "  History  of  the  Pyrates."  ^  He  is  here  repre- 
sented as  a  large  man  whose  repulsive  face  is  almost  hidden  by 
a  mane-like  beard,  the  hair  of  which,  black  as  coal,  grew  up  to  his 
very  eyes.  So  long  was  this  beard  that  he  twisted  it  into  small 
tails  tied  with  ribbons,  "  after  the  manner  of  our  Ramilies  wiggs,"  ^ 
and  turned  the  ends  over  his  ears.  He  had  a  head  like  a  brindled 
gnu.  Under  his  hat,  which  was  of  felt  and  of  the  Dick  Turpin 
pattern,  he  stuck  lighted  matches  or  fuses  which,  when  he  was 
at  work,  would  glow  horribly  on  either  side  of  his  eyes.  He  is 
depicted  in  a  long-skirted  coat  with  immense  cuffs  to  the  sleeves, 
and  in  breeches,  stockings,  and  shoes.  In  his  hand  is  a  cutlass, 
while  in  his  belt  no  less  than  six  pistols  are  stuck.  It  is  to  be 
noticed  that  he  avoids  the  open  jack-boots,  the  hat  feather  and  the 
immense  belt  buckle  of  the  common  stage  villain. 

Teach  was  an  execrable  and  unholy  rascal,  who  was  a  shudder- 
ing horror  to  every  one  with  whom  he  was  associated.  He 
occasionally  robbed  and  murdered  his  own  crew.  Once,  when  in 
a  blithesome  mood,  he  marooned  seventeen  of  his  men  on  a  desert 
island.  Here  they  would  have  starved  to  death,  as  he  hoped 
they  would,  had  not  Major  Stede  Bonnet,  the  amateur  freebooter 

'  Vol.  i.  :  London,  1726.  '  Johnson's  History  of  the  lyrates. 

P 


2IO  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

of  Barbados,  come  to  their  rescue.^  It  was  just  about  this  period 
that  Teach  married  as  his  fourteenth  wife  "  a  young  creature  of 
sixteen."  It  is  not  stated  how  it  came  about  that  she  was  drawn 
to  Teach,  or  by  what  charms  he  won  her  budding  affection. 

Black  Beard  was  a  man  of  resource,  who  could  be  relied  upon 
to  invent  means  for  relieving  even  the  monotony  of  a  dull  voyage. 
Thus  one  bright  afternoon,  when  the  sloop  was  lying  becalmed 
and  rocking  to  the  lazy  roll  that  makes  the  ocean  in  the  tropics 
appear  as  if  it  breathed,  the  pirates  found  the  time  pass  heavily. 
They  had  polished  their  weapons  until  they  shone  like  silver. 
They  had  gambled  until  half  the  company  were  penniless.  They 
had  fought  until  there  was  nothing  more  to  fight  about,  and  it  was 
too  hot  to  sleep.  Indeed  there  was  nothing  to  be  done,  but  to 
lean  over  the  rail  and  throw  bits  of  rotten  beef  at  the  sharks.  In 
this  dilemma  the  ready-witted  Teach,  hatless  and  shoeless,  and 
"  a  little  flushed  with  drink,"  stumbles  up  on  deck,  and,  holding 
on  to  the  shrouds,  makes  this  happy  proposal  to  his  bored 
companions.  "  Come,"  says  this  genial  soul,  "  let  us  make  a  little 
hell  of  our  own,  and  see  how  long  we  can  bear  it."  Whereupon  he 
and  two  or  three  others,  helped  by  suggestive  kicks,  drop  down 
into  the  hold  and,  having  closed  the  hatches,  sit  on  the  stones  of 
the  ballast.  Here  in  the  reeking  dark  they  set  fire  to  "  several 
pots  full  of  brimstone  and  other  inflammable  matters,"  and  so 
produced  a  replica  of  the  atmosphere  of  the  Pit.  The  captain's 
playmates,  livid  with  asphyxia  and  with  faces  streaming  from  the 
heat,  soon  made  a  rush  for  the  sunny  deck,  but  Teach's  ugly  head 
was  the  last  to  come  up  the  hatch,  and  it  was  always  a  pride  and 
a  pleasure  to  him  to  remember  that  he  held  out  the  longest,  while 
he  was  always  gratified  to  hear  that  his  face,  on  emerging,  was  as 
the  face  of  a  half-hanged  man. 

This  distinguished  pirate  had,  besides  his  ready  wit,  social 
qualities  of  quite  a  rare  order.  For  example,  one  night  he  was 
entertaining  in  his  cabin  two  friends — Israel  Hands,  the  master  of 
the  sloop,  and  the  pilot  who  had  brought  the  ship  into  harbour. 
The  entertainment   seems  to  have  consisted  mainly  in  the  con- 

'  See  page  25. 


MEMOIRS   OF   EDWARD   TEACH,  MARINER.     211 

sumption  of  tobacco  and  rum.  The  small  cabin,  lit  as  it  was  by 
a  solitary  candle,  was  probably  close.  During  a  pause  in  the 
conversation  Teach,  with  a  smile  on  his  face,  cocked  two  pistols 
carefully,  then,  blowing  out  the  candle,  he  crossed  his  hands  and 
discharged  the  weapons  at  his  company.  As  the  outcome  of  this 
unexpected  attention,  Israel  was  shot  through  the  knee  and  lamed 
for  life.  "The  other  pistol,"  the  chronicle  says,  "did  no  execution." 
When  the  candle  was  relit,  the  captain's  guests  very  naturally 
asked  him  what  he  meant  by  this  display  of  musketry.  He 
replied  by  damning  them  both  to  eternal  fire,  and,  after  cursing 
them  at  sufficient  length,  he  explained,  in  a  friendly  way,  that 
"  if  he  did  not  kill  one  of  them  now  and  then  they  would  forget 
who  he  was." 

Probably  Hands  as  he  lay  on  the  floor,  watching  the  blood 
spurt  out  of  his  knee,  may  have  muttered  that  he  did  not  believe 
in  artificial  aids  to  memory. 

Edward's  end  was  not  peace.  He  and  his  allies  had  so  harried 
the  American  Main,  that  in  17 18  the  Lieutenant-Governor  of 
Virginia  offered  a  reward  of  40/.  for  the  capture  of  any  pirate 
captain,  and  the  special  prize  of  100/.  for  Edward  Teach,  alive  or 
dead. 

Black  Beard  at  the  moment  was  resting  from  his  labours.  He 
had  hit  upon  a  green  sheltered  cove  at  the  mouth  of  the  Ocracoke 
inlet,  a  romantic  spot  that  pleased  his  fancy.  His  whereabouts 
was  revealed  to  a  certain  Lieutenant  Maynard,  of  H.M.S.  Pearly 
who  lost  no  time  in  manning  a  sloop  and  starting  for  Teach's 
quiet  haven.  Now  Teach  was  informed  that  Maynard  was  after 
him,  but  the  pirate  declined  to  stir.  He  had  no  regard  for 
Maynard  and,  moreover,  the  placid  scenery  of  the  creek  comforted 
him.  Indeed  he  prepared  to  meet  the  man-o'-war's  man  by 
drinking  all  night  with  a  merchant  skipper  who  chanced  to  have 
dropped  in. 

As  the  morning  dawned  Maynard  crept  up  the  inlet,  and  there 
to  his  joy  was  the  pirate  craft  lying  at  her  anchor,  a  picture  of 
peace.  As  the  PearPs  sloop  approached,  Black  Beard  seized  a 
hatchet  and  cut  his  cable,  with  the  result  that  his  vessel,  on  which 

pa 


212  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

was  now  hoisted  a  black  flag,  drifted  ashore.  This  was  a  nimble 
move,  for  the  buccaneer  saw  that  the  sloop  drew  too  much  water 
to  come  near  him,  and  Maynard,  realising  that  fact  also,  anchored 
within  half-gunshot  of  his  quarry.  Neither  vessel  carried  any 
ordnance. 

Maynard  was  determined  to  get  alongside  the  pirate,  so  with 
desperate  haste  he  began  to  throw  his  ballast  overboard,  together 
with  the  kedge  and  every  spar  and  scrap  of  iron  he  could  spare. 
More  than  that  he  staved  in  every  water  cask  ;  until  feeling  that 
he  had  freeboard  enough  he  slipped  his  anchor,  set  his  mainsail 
and  jib,  and  bore  down  upon  the  stranded  sea  robber. 

As  he  came  on  Teach,  with  the  fuses  glowing  under  his  hat, 
"  hailed  him  in  a  rude  manner,"  cursed  him  and  defied  him  in  fact, 
and  standing  on  the  taffrail  drank  to  his  speedy  damnation  in  a 
goblet  of  liquor.  The  man-o'-war's  man  now  sent  off  a  boarding 
party  in  small  boats,  which  same  Teach  met  with  such  a  volley 
of  small  shot  that  he  killed  and  wounded  twenty-nine  men, 
leaving  scarcely  crew  enough  to  row  back  to  the  sloop  for  shelter. 
After  this  incident  Teach's  ship  "  fell  broadside  to  the  shore,"  with 
her  deck  all  aslant. 

Maynard  sailed  slowly  nearer  with  his  canvas  hanging  slack, 
for  the  wind  was  very  light.  He  sent  all  his  men  below  so  that 
he  and  the  helmsman,  who  was  lying  down  "  snug,"  were  the  only 
people  on  the  silent  deck.  Teach,  surrounded  by  his  sullen  and 
villainous  gang,  shrieked  out  the  chorus  of  a  sea  song  as  the  sloop 
drew  near,  and  when  she  had  drifted  close  enough  he  pelted  her 
deck  with  grenadoes.^ 

At  this  moment  the  two  vessels  touched,  whereupon  Teach 
and  his  crew,  with  hideous  yells  and  a  great  gleam  of  cutlass 
blades,  leapt  upon  the  sloop's  deck.  They  leapt  through  the 
smoke  with  which  the  ship  was  still  smothered,  and  out  of  the 
cloud  the  awful  figure  of  the  buccaneer  emerged,  making  for 
Maynard.  At  the  same  time  the  men  hidden  in  the  sloop 
scrambled  up  from  the  hold,  and  the  riot  of  the  fight  began. 

As  Teach  and  Maynard  met   they  both    fired  at   each  other 

'  Case  bottles  filled  with  powder  and  slugs,  and  provided  with  a  quick  match. 


MEMOIRS   OF   EDWARD   TEACH,  MARINER.     213 

point  blank.  The  lieutenant  dodged,  but  the  robber  was  hit  in 
the  face,  and  the  blood  was  soon  dripping  from  his  beard,  the  ends 
of  which  were,  as  usual,  tucked  up  over  his  ears.  There  was  no 
time  to  fumble  with  pistols  now.  So  they  fought  with  cutlasses. 
Teach,  spitting  the  blood  out  of  his  mouth,  swore  that  he  would 
hack  Maynard's  soul  from  his  body ;  but  his  opponent  was  too 
fine  an  adept  with  the  sword  to  be  easily  disposed  of  It  was  a 
fearful  duel  :  a  trial  of  the  robber's  immense  strength  against  the 
officer's  deftness. 

They  chased  each  other  about  the  deck,  stumbling  across 
dead  bodies,  knocking  down  snarling  men  who,  clutched  together, 
were  fighting  with  knives.  Ever  through  the  mirk  could  be  seen 
the  buccaneer's  grinning  teeth  and  evil  eyes ;  ever  above  the 
hubbub  and  scuffling  rose  his  murderous  war  cry.  Both  were 
wounded,  both  breathless. 

At  last  Maynard,  in  defending  himself  from  a  terrific  blow,  had 
his  sword  blade  broken  off  at  the  hilt.  Now  was  the  pirate's 
chance.  He  aimed  a  slash  at  Maynard.  It  fell  short  and  only 
hacked  a  few  of  his  fingers  off,  for  as  the  blow  fell  one  of  the 
sloop's  men  brought  his  cutlass  down  upon  the  back  of  the 
buccaneer's  red  neck,  making  a  horrible  wound  which  might  have 
been  done  by  an  executioner's  axe.  Teach  turned  upon  him  and 
cut  him  to  the  deck. 

For  the  moment  the  current  of  the  fight  changed.  The  decks 
were  very  slippery  from  blood.  Teach  kicked  off  his  shoes  so  as 
to  get  a  better  hold  of  the  planks.  Half  a  dozen  of  the  sloop's 
men  were  against  him  now.  He  stood  with  his  back  to  the 
bulwarks,  a  scarcely  human  figure.  Panting  horribly,  he  roared 
like  a  maddened  bull.  His  dripping  cutlass  still  kept  those  he 
called  dogs  at  bay.  He  had  received  twenty-five  wounds,  five  of 
which  were  from  bullets.  Blood  was  streaming  down  his  hairy 
chest.  Blood  clots  dangled  from  his  fantastic  beard  in  place  of 
the  bows  of  ribbon.  The  muscles  of  his  neck  having  been  cut 
through  his  head  fell  forwards  hideously,  but  there  was  still  a 
defiant  smile  on  his  lips. 

At  last  he  drew  a  pistol  and  was  cocking  it  at  arm's   length, 


214  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

but  before  the  trigger  was  drawn,  and  before  a  man  touched  him, 
his  beast-like  eyelids  closed  and  he  fell  back  on  the  railing, 
dead. 

His  few  remaining  men  dropped  overboard  and  the  little  creek 
became  still  once  more.  Lieutenant  Maynard  cut  off  Teach's 
head  (it  was  already  nearly  severed  at  the  back)  and  hung  it  up 
on  the  "  boltsprit  end  "  of  his  sloop.  With  this  strange  ornament 
swinging  from  the  bows,  and  with  thirteen  pirates  safe  in  the  hold, 
Maynard  set  sail  for  Bath  Town  in  North  Carolina.  Here  the 
thirteen  were  promptly  hanged. 

The  only  one  of  Black  Beard's  men  who  escaped  was  Israel 
Hands,  who  was  ashore  at  the  time,  nursing  a  pistol  wound  in  his 
knee. 


XLII. 

A,  HARBOUR   ENTRY. 

It  is  a  romantic  and  even  tragic  entry,  the  entry  into  the  lagoon- 
iike  harbour  of  San  Juan.  There  are  many  San  Juans  in  these 
seas,  but  this  is  San  Juan  Bautista,  the  capital  of  the  island  of 
Puerto  Rico.  The  island  was  discovered  by  Columbus  on  his 
second  voyage,  and  was  colonised  by  the  Spaniards  with  much 
murdering  and  savagery.  Spanish  it  has  remained,  with  unim- 
portant interruptions,  until  late  years — until  1898,  in  fact,  when  it 
became  a  dependency  of  the  United  States  of  America. 

Saint  John  the  Baptist  is  a  walled  town,  old  and  weather- 
beaten,  very  massively  fortified,  and  hoary  with  annals  of  rough 
fighting  in  which  sakers  and  demi-culverins,  fire-ships  and  pikes 
have  borne  stout  parts.  The  entrance  into  the  harbour  from  the 
open  Atlantic  is  narrow  and  wild-looking.  On  one  side,  on  a 
point  of  ragged  land,  is  a  Spanish  fort,  a  pile  of  terrific  and  heart- 
less walls,  yellow  with  age  and  streaked  with  black  as  if  with 
tears.  On  the  other  side  is  a  low,  rocky  island  which  is  often 
hidden  by  drifting  spray,  the  Isla  de  Cabras.  Between  the  two 
is  the  eddying  sea  passage,  where  smooth-backed  combers  hurl 
themselves  through,  brushing  their  great  shoulders  against  the 
slimy  fortress  wall,  and  then  crashing  upon  the  rocks  beyond  the 
glacis  as  well  as  upon  the  shore  of  the  battered  island. 

When  the  wind  is  northerly  and  the  ocean  swell  high  and 
arrogant  the  ship  making  for  the  haven  is  hurried  breathless  down 
the  gap,  with  much  rolling  to  and  fro,  as  if  a  hand  beneath  the 
sea  was  lifting  the  keel.  In  taking  this  channel  in  heavy  wtiather 
even  a  tourist  steamer  must  feel  that,  just  for  one  fine  moment, 


2i6  THE   CRADLE    OF   THE   DEEP. 

it  is  an  object  of  romance.  The  thrill,  however,  dies  away  when 
the  anchor  is  dropped,  and  the  deck  is  boarded  by  postcard  vendors 
and  the  owners  of  cabs. 

San  Juan  is  as  fine  an  example  of  a  walled  city  as  will  be 
found  among  the  islands  or  along  the  Spanish  Main.  Within  the 
circuit  of  its  formidable  black  masonry  the  town  stands  huddled, 
although  of  recent  times  the  houses,  with  an  assurance  of  security, 
have  crept  out  boldly  from  beyond  the  fortifications  and  have 
settled  themselves  down  in  open  suburbs.  The  town  in  reality 
occupies  a  narrow  island  separated  from  the  mainland  by  a 
channel  which,  passing  beneath  the  San  Antonio  bridge,  winds 
into  the  harbour  by  Isla  Grande  and  by  Miraflores  Bay.  The 
sea  margin  of  the  island  presents  to  the  Atlantic  a  cliff  of  sinister 
rock,  lOO  feet  high,  surmounted  always  by  the  menacing  black 
wall. 

The  city  is  on  a  slope,  for  the  land  drops  from  the  cliff 
summit  to  the  level  shore  of  the  harbour.  Thus  of  San  Juan 
little  is  to  be  seen  from  the  sea,  save  the  ill-looking  forts,  the 
black  wall,  and  a  suspicious  tower  or  two  peeping  above  the  battle- 
ments. But  to  the  placid  tree-encircled  harbour,  to  the  harbour 
of  sunny  creeks  and  silver  shoals,  the  city  opens  its  arms  and  its 
very  heart. 

The  veteran  fort  that  stands  at  the  harbour  mouth,  brooding 
over  the  swirling  entry,  is  called  El  Morro.  It  was  built,  they  say, 
in  1584,  while  the  gaunt  wall  which  surrounds  the  town  was  not 
completed  until  1771.  Morro  Castle,  therefore,  was  well  known 
to  Drake  and  to  that  aristocratic  pirate  the  Earl  of  Cumberland. 
There  is  no  doubt  but  that  it  has  been  greatly  strengthened  since 
these  two  sturdy  Englishmen  mocked  and  defied  it.  It  is  now 
an  immense  fortress,  with  three  tiers  of  batteries  facing  the  sea, 
with  spray-wetted  platforms  and  sally-ports,  under  whose  doors  the 
sea  creeps  in  at  times  of  high  tide.  Its  horrible  walls  are  made 
one  with  the  dead  cliff.  There  are  so  many  loopholes  in  its  front 
that  the  place  seems  more  full  of  e}'es  than  the  head  of  the  giant 
Argus.  In  each  black,  skull-like  socket,  where  would  be  the  pupil 
of  a  globe,  is  the  muzzle  of  a  gun,  an  iris  of  steel. 


A    HARBOUR   ENTRY.  217 

This  San  Juan,  this  very  harbour  mouth,  comes  into  the  scene 
of  one  of  the  most  pathetic  of  the  sea  stories  of  England,  the 
story  of  the  last  voyage  of  John  Hawkins  and  Francis  Drake. 

These  great  Elizabethan  sailors,  kinsmen  and  life-long  friends, 
had  followed  the  sea  from  boyhood.  Ever  famous  as  two  of  the 
most  conspicuous  figures  in  an  age  of  heroic  pioneering,  the  tale  of 
their  lives  is  one  long  saga  of  daring  and  adventure.  None  had 
done  more  than  they  to  break  the  sea  power  of  Spain,  or  to  lay 
the  foundations  of  Britain's  position  as  mistress  of  the  sea.  Both 
had  fought  against  the  Armada  in  the  memorable  year  of  1588 ; 
both  had  made  themselves  "  so  redoubtable  to  the  Spaniards  "  that 
their  very  names  were  breathed  with  awe  in  the  court  of  Philip  ; 
both  were  possessed  by  a  hate  of  Spain  so  fervid  that  it  became 
little  less  than  a  tenet  of  religion. 

This  last  expedition  was  to  some  extent  a  voyage  of  revenge. 
The  foul  treachery  of  the  Spaniards  at  San  Juan  d'Ulloa  had 
never  been  forgotten,  forgiven  or  effaced.  More  than  that, 
Hawkins's  only  son,  Richard,  had  been  captured  by  the  Spaniards, 
together  with  his  ship  Dainty.  The  lad  was  now  lying,  as  his 
father  believed,  in  some  torture  chamber  of  the  Inquisition  on  the 
Spanish  Main.  The  old  man,  in  spite  of  his  failing  health  and  the 
need  of  a  final  spell  of  peace,  could  not  rest  in  England.  He  was 
ever  haunted  by  the  picture  of  his  beloved  boy,  the  delight  of  his 
life,  either  utterly  alone  in  a  cramped  cell  or  in  a  vaulted  room 
wherein  were  a  rack  and  hooded  figures.  He  could  hear  the 
creaking  of  the  wheels,  the  twang  of  the  rope  about  the  livid 
wrists  as  the  lever  moved  through  another  notch.  He  could  catch 
the  gasping  breath,  the  grinding  of  the  teeth,  and  see  the  sweat 
streaming  from  the  brow.  Moreover  in  Plymouth  was  Judith, 
his  son's  young  wife,  and  the  sight  of  her  anguish  was  beyond  all 
bearing.  So  he  went  to  Drake,  his  kinsman  and  old  shipmate. 
"  Would  he  go  with  him  ?  "  "  Go  with  him  !  Yes,  a  thousand 
times  ! " 

Thus  the  two  got  together  a  fleet,  and  sailed  away  from 
Plymouth  on  August  28,  1595,  just  two  years  after  Richard 
Hawkins  had   been    taken    prisoner.      They  were   both   old  and 


2i8  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE    DEEP. 

broken-down  men,  although  Drake  was  only  fifty-five  and 
Hawkins  sixty-three.  They  had  a  fine  fleet  of  twenty-seven 
ships  and  a  force  of  2500  men  and  boys.  No  less  than  six 
vessels  were  ships  of  the  Queen.  Of  these  Drake  commanded 
the  Defiance,  500  tons,  and  Hawkins  the  Garland,  700  tons. 

In  many  a  year  had  these  two  sailed  out  of  Plymouth  harbour 
bound  for  the  West  Indies  or  the  Main.  This  was  the  last  occasion 
of  their  going,  the  last  time  that  either  of  them  would  see  the 
coasts  of  Devon.  As  the  familiar  cliffs  faded  in  the  gloom  they 
vanished  for  ever  ;  and  we  may  be  sure  that  the  last  figure  they 
would  see  before  the  land  grew  dim  would  be  Judith,  praying  to 
God  that  they  may  have  good  speed. 

The  voyage  was  disastrous  from  the  beginning  to  the  end. 
The  aged  admiral,  who  was  spending  the  last  blood  in  his  veins 
in  the  quest  for  his  son,  was  a  dying  man.  Drake,  the  intrepid 
fighter,  the  scourge  of  the  seas,  the  West  Indian  Vanderdecken, 
had  lost  his  cunning  and  his  prestige.  Spanish  spies  had  gone 
ahead  with  news  of  their  projects. 

The  English  had  not  been  long  at  sea  before  a  painful  scene 
took  place,  at  the  council  table,  between  the  two  old  friends. 
They  disagreed  as  to  the  policy  of  a  forced  landing  on  the 
Canaries.  Drake's  advice  prevailed  ;  an  invasion  was  attempted, 
but  it  failed  utterly. 

Beaten  off,  they  laid  a  course  for  the  familiar  Caribbees,  made 
Domenica,  and  rested  at  anchor  under  the  shelter  of  Marie  Galante. 
Here  befell  another  calamity.  The  hindmost  ship  of  the  fleet, 
the  Francis,  was  taken  by  the  Spaniards,  and  the  crew  sent  as 
prisoners  to  Puerto  Rico  after  the  plans  of  the  English  had  been 
extracted  from  the  master  by  torture.  It  was  Drake's  intention 
now  to  sack  San  Juan  of  Puerto  Rico,  but  it  was  not  until 
November  that  they  headed  their  ships  northwards  in  search  of 
a  channel  through  the  Virgin  Islands. 

More  than  two  entire  months  had  passed  away  and  nothing 
had  been  done.  The  time  was  long  for  a  man  whose  days  were 
numbered.  One  can  picture  the  aged  admiral  as  he  leaned  over 
the  ship's  side,  looking  for  the  land  that  was  so  slow  in  coming— 


A    HARBOUR   ENTRY.  219 

a  fine  figure  of  an  old  sea  lion,  although  his  hair  and  his  trim 
moustache  were  white  and  his  face  furrowed,  and  although  the 
hand  that  clutched  the  bulwarks  was  thin  and  nerveless.  The 
goal  he  was  destined  never  to  behold.  Culebra  was  passed  on 
November  12,  and  on  the  same  day,  just  at  the  hour  of  sundown, 
the  easternmost  point  of  Puerto  Rico  came  in  sight.  John 
Hawkins  was  now  rapidly  nearing  his  end,  and  the  last  sound 
that  would  have  fallen  upon  his  dying  ears  was  the  cry  of  the 
man  at  the  look-out,  "  Land  ahead  !  "  ^  It  was  a  fitting  death,  to 
die  at  sea  amidst  the  scenes  of  his  brilliant  exploits,  to  die  at  the 
time  of  the  setting  of  the  sun,  at  the  moment  that  the  long-sought 
shore  was  sighted. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  Spaniards  at  San  Juan  were  awaiting 
the  coming  of  Drake  and  his  ships.  We  have  an  account  of  his 
attack  upon  the  town  preserved  in  Spanish  records  of  the  time.^ 
The  city  was  astir.  The  women  and  children  were  being  hurried 
away  to  places  of  safety.  They  pattered  over  the  bridge  to 
the  mainland,  a  fluttering,  chattering  cavalcade,  in  litters,  on 
mules  or  asses,  and  on  foot,  carrying  with  them  a  jumble  of 
household  treasures,  silks  and  cooking  pots,  bed  linen  and  pet 
monkeys. 

Men  were  lining  up  in  the  streets,  in  the  Plaza,  and  in  the 
castle  square.  They  mustered  a  force  of  10,000,  including  800 
mariners,  and  fifty  horsemen  with  lance  and  buckler.  On 
El  Morro  were  mounted  no  less  than  twenty-seven  "very  good 
brass  guns."  The  cathedral  bell  was  tolling,  for  the  bishop  was 
about  to  offer  Mass,  and  to  preach  a  sermon  to  all  who  could 
be  spared  from  the  ramparts.  Merchants  were  busy  hiding 
treasure  in  vaults  or  under  floors,  and  in  holes  dug  in  gardens  by 
night. 

A  ship  called  the  Capitana  de  Tierra  Firmc,  and  another 
belonging  to  Senor  Pedro  Milanes,  were  sunk  in  the  narrow  entry 
to  the  port — an  exciting  spectacle,  no  doubt,  for  the  gaping  crowd 

'   "At  the  easternmost  end  of  .St.  John  ...  Sir  John  Hawkins  departed  this  life." 
Drake's  Report. 

•  Spanish  Account  of  DraJu  at  San  Juan,  Puerto  Ruo.     Hakhiyt  Society. 


220  THE    CRADLE    OF   THE    DEEP. 

at  the  foot  of  El  Morro,  since  the  sea  runs  strong  in  the  passage 
and  the  scuttling  of  two  great  ships  is  no  mean  sight. 

On  a  certain  Wednesday,  at  the  break  of  day,  the  English 
fleet  appeared  on  the  eastern  horizon,  rising  up  spectre-like 
against  the  red  glow  of  the  dawn.  Everyone  rushed  to  the 
sea-wall  and  gazed  eastwards,  their  faces  lit  by  the  enlarging  light. 
The  fleet  came  on  very  slowly,  for  the  wind  was  faint.  In  the  van 
was  a  single  pinnace,  with  some  small  boats  taking  soundings. 
Then  came,  in  solemn  order,  the  six  great  galleons  of  the  Queen, 
with  the  Defiance  leading.  Among  the  six  was  the  Garland^ 
bearing  in  her  state  cabin  the  body  of  the  admiral.  After  the 
Queen's  galleons  came  the  privateers,  and  then,  on  either  wing  as 
well  as  in  the  rear,  the  little  pinnaces. 

The  anxious  silence  was  broken  at  last  by  the  boom  of 
a  gun.  It  was  fired  from  the  Boqueron  battery  on  the  east  point 
of  the  island,  and  was  directed  at  the  boats  with  the  scouting 
parties.  They  cleared  off  nimbly,  but  the  fleet  advanced  with 
sober  deliberation,  and  cast  anchor  opposite  to  the  harbour  mouth. 

Drake  loved  to  show  his  contempt  of  Spaniards  at  all  times, 
but  on  this  occasion  the  parade  cost  him  dear,  for  in  the  evening 
as  he  was  supping  in  his  cabin  on  the  Defiance,  with  ports  open 
and  the  table  ablaze  with  lights,  a  round  shot  from  El  Morro 
crashed  through  the  ship's  side,  smashing  his  chair  under  him,  and 
killing  his  friend,  Sir  Nicholas  Clifford,  on  the  spot 

The  next  morning  being  Thursday  and  St.  Clement's  Day  the 
English  fleet,  from  whose  guns  not  one  single  shot  had  been  fired, 
were  found  to  have  moved  westward  to  an  anchorage  near  the 
Isla  de  Cabras,  that  spray-driven  island  over  against  the  castle. 
This  was  mysterious  and  disconcerting,  especially  as  small  boats 
were  hovering  about  the  entry  to  the  harbour  busy  with  the  lead. 
There  were  five  of  the  enemy's  ships  in  the  haven,  and  it  was 
Drake's  intent  to  set  fire  to  these,  and  having  put  them  out  of 
action,  to  attack  the  city  from  the  harbour  side. 

During  the  whole  of  Thursday  there  was  no  stir  of  life  in  the 
fleet,  but  at  ten  o'clock,  when  it  was  dead  dark,  twenty-five  boats 
with  muffled  oars  made  for  the  harbour  entry.      They  crept  in 


A    HARBOUR    ENTRY.  221 

close  to  the  rock,  feeling  their  way  to  the  place  where  the  ships 
were  lying.  They  set  fire  to  their  sterns,  and  in  a  moment 
San  Juan  was  awake  and  in  an  uproar. 

As  the  flames  mounted  up  the  masts,  shrouds  and  yards 
aj^peared  through  the  smoke  like  the  spars  and  rigging  of 
phantom  ships ;  men  were  seen  rushing  to  and  fro  on  the  flaming 
decks,  or  dropping  out  of  port-holes.  The  fires  lit  up  the  English 
boats  as  they  darted  over  the  shining  surface  of  the  haven.  In  a 
second  the  "  very  good  brass  guns  "  on  El  Morro  were  lashing  the 
water  with  shot  and  shell.  The  English  cheered  as  they  battered 
the  ships  with  "  fire  potts  "  and  bombs.  The  Spaniards  replied 
with  musketry  and  with  stones  picked  up  from  the  ballast 

Some  nine  or  ten  of  the  English  boats  were  sunk  and  the  crews 
drowned,  or  shot  down  as  they  swam,  or  hacked  to  death  as  they 
clung  to  the  channels  of  Spanish  ships.  One  frigate,  the  Magdalena, 
was  burnt  to  the  water's  edge ;  many  of  her  sailors  died  in  the 
flames,  others  were  killed  by  small  shot  from  Drake's  men.  The 
captain,  jumping  overboard,  swam  through  the  glare  and  the 
crowd  of  boats  to  the  frigate  Sancta  Ysabel,  dodging  many  a 
cutlass  cut  at  his  head  on  the  way. 

The  fires  on  the  other  ships  were  put  out.  The  fight  lasted 
only  for  one  hour,  during  which  time  the  whole  harbour  and  town 
were  lit  by  the  glare  of  flames,  so  that  faces  could  be  seen  on  the 
walls,  while  the  air  was  rent  by  an  incessant  cannonade,  by  the 
patter  of  small  arms,  the  crackling  of  burning  planks  and  the 
yells  of  men.  The  attempt  had  failed.  The  British  were  driven 
ofF  with  the  loss — so  the  Spaniards  reckoned — of  over  400 
men. 

When  Friday  came  Drake  was  planning  another  attack.  He 
would  sail  his  galleons  right  into  the  port,  into  the  desperate 
passage,  and  destroy  the  four  remaining  ships  of  the  enemy  with 
cannon  shot.  The  Spaniards  could  hear  the  rattle  of  his  capstans 
as  the  anchors  came  up  to  the  chant  of  the  men.  The  attacking 
ships  worked  up  to  windward,  luffed  up  and  came  about,  and  then 
with  the  trade-wind  on  the  port  quarter,  sailed  under  full  canvas 
for  the  harbour  mouth. 


222  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

The  Spaniards  had  that  morning  already  sunk  two  more 
vessels  in  the  entry,  and  as  Drake  swept  down  upon  them  they 
scuttled  another  in  the  fair-way,  making  five  in  all.  The  passage 
was  now  impossible,  so  the  Defiance  and  her  consorts  as  they 
neared  the  cliff  put  their  helms  hard-a-port,  and  ran  silently  down 
to  their  old  quarters  off  the  Isla  de  Cabras.  It  was  "  at  vesper 
time "  when  they  dropped  anchor  there.  Drake,  the  invincible 
Drake,  had  been  again  repulsed. 

That  very  night,  when  it  was  so  dark  that  none  could  see,  the 
English  fleet  bore  away — beaten. 

Before  they  left  there  was  one  duty  to  be  done.  By  the  gun- 
wale of  the  Garland  lay  an  object  sewn  up  in  canvas,  with  a 
round  shot  secured  at  one  end.  It  was  lit  by  the  light  of  a 
solitary  lantern,  the  glimmer  of  which  revealed  also  the  figure  of 
Drake  standing  bareheaded  and  with  downcast  eyes.  The  plank 
on  which  the  strange  bundle  lay  was  tilted  by  trembling  hands 
and  the  body  of  John  Hawkins  dropped  into  the  everlasting  sea. 
Thus  did  the  two  old  shipmates  part  company. 


XLIII. 

THE   MAN    WITH   A   GLOVE   IN    HIS   HAT. 

Three  years  after  Drake's  departure  another  Englishman  looked 
in  at  San  Juan  of  Puerto  Rico.  The  visitor  on  this  occasion  was 
the  Right  Honourable  the  Earl  of  Cumberland,  M.A.  Cambridge, 
and  pirate.  He  was  the  admiral  of  a  large  privateering  ex- 
pedition which  had  sailed  out  of  Plymouth  harbour  on  March  6, 
1598.  The  fleet  consisted  of  twenty  ships,  all  of  which  had  been 
provided  at  the  admiral's  own  charges.  The  noble  earl  had 
given  to  his  flagship  the  impressive  name  of  the  Scourge  of  Malice. 

After  some  gentle  pirating  by  the  way  the  fleet  reached 
Domenica,  where  they  rested  so  that  the  sailors  might  find 
"  refreshing."  This  was  in  May.  On  June  6  Lord  Cumberland — 
following  deliberately,  as  it  would  seem,  the  course  that  Drake 
had  taken — reached  San  Juan  Bautista.  Being  entirely  unex- 
pected by  the  Spaniards  he  crept  up  to  the  coast  at  night,  and 
landed  600  men  half  a  league  to  the  east  of  the  castle  of 
El  Morro.  He  landed  them  at  a  spot  where  the  governor  was 
confident  that  no  body  of  men  could  make  the  shore ;  yet  his 
Excellency  should  by  this  time  have  known  the  British  better. 

He  approached  the  unconscious  town  along  the  level  way 
where  now  rumble  the  electric  tramcars.  Dividing  his  force  into 
two  parties,  he  simultaneously  rushed  the  town  and  attacked  the 
fort  at  the  first  dawning  of  the  day.  He  had  caught  the  Spaniards 
unawares,  and  after  two  hours  of  wild  street  and  drawbridge 
fighting  San  Juan  was  his.  There  were  very  few  soldiers  in  the 
fort,  as  a  strong  force  had  been  recently  despatched  to  Cartagena, 
where  an  attack  of  the  tiresome  English  was  hourly  expected. 

My  Lord  of  Cumberland  must  have  felt  that  the  world  was 
going   well    with    him,  for   San   Juan  was   rich   and    prosperous. 


224  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

After  he  had  made  a  survey  of  the  merchants'  storehouses,  of  the 
ships  in  the  haven,  and  of  the  back  parlours  of  the  money-lenders, 
he  probably  walked  to  that  ragged  point  of  the  island  where 
El  Morro  looks  down  upon  the  harbour  entry.  Knowing  well  the 
story  of  Drake's  desperate  assault  he  must  have  viewed  this  narrow 
stretch  of  water  with  some  emotion,  for  he  and  the  great  captain 
had  been  friends.  It  is  probable  indeed  that  he  had  with  him  one 
of  Drake's  own  seamen,  one  who  had  taken  part  in  the  actual 
fight  in  '95,  and  who  could  explain  where  the  Spanish  frigates  lay, 
where  his  own  boat  had  crept  in,  and  show  perhaps  with  some 
savageness  the  very  spot  where  he  received  the  cutlass  wound 
which  had  left  that  ugly  seam  across  his  face.  More  than  that, 
with  his  hairy  arm  outstretched,^he  would  point  to  the  westward, 
across  the  sea,  to  the  place  where  the  body  of  Sir  John  Hawkins 
had  been  committed  to  the  deep. 

It  is  probable  also  that  some  of  the  wreckage  of  the  fire-ships 
sunk  in  the  entry  would  still  be  there  to  be  seen.  This  long  dark 
shape  beneath  the  sun-lit  comber  was  the  hull  of  the  Capitana : 
that  mast  and  uprising  poop  belonged  to  Pedro  Milanes'  ship  : 
that  wreck  with  the  ghostly  deck-house  door  still  swinging  to  and 
fro  in  the  wash  of  the  sea,  must  be  the  craft  that  was  scuttled  just 
as  Drake  bore  down  in  the  Defiance  on  that  eventful  Friday 
afternoon. 

The  pirate  peer  had  hoped  to  make  San  Juan  a  base  from 
which  he  could  conduct  an  extensive  and  profitable  buccaneering 
business  in  the  adjacent  districts.  Unhappily  for  this  purpose  the 
fever  fell  upon  his  men,  and  killed  them  in  such  numbers  that  his 
force  was  soon  reduced  to  less  than  half  its  strength.  Cumberland 
feared  nothing  that  he  could  see,  but  this  invisible  horror  filled 
him  with  a  numbing  dread.  He  saw  the  strong  man  dragged  to 
the  ground  by  unseen  hands,  his  face  become  yellow  as  if  from 
fear,  his  eyes  glare  from  his  head  as  if  he  beheld  the  vampire  face 
to  face,  his  fingers  wandering  to  and  fro  as  if  in  search  of  a  clue, 
his  voice  toneless  and  unhuman,  like  the  voice  of  a  ghoul. 

His  resolve  was  soon  taken.  With  those  who  lived  he  hurried 
on  board  the  ships  and  sought  the  wholesome  sea,  pressing  for 


THE   MAN   WITH    A   GLOVE    IN    HIS   HAT.     225 

home  with  the  good  assurance  that  the  shadow  of  death  could  be 
out-distanced,  and  that  his  men  were  safe  when  once  he  was  within 
the  charmed  circle  of  Plymouth  Sound.  He  left  Puerto  Rico  on 
August  14,  and  made  the  coast  of  England  on  September  16, 
without  further  adventure. 

Of  the  acts  of  this  remarkable  Cambridge  graduate  in  San 
Juan,  and  of  all  that  he  did,  and  of  the  havoc  he  wrought,  a  full 
writing  exists  in  the  chronicles  of  one  Samuel  Champlain — 
a  Frenchman  with  an  English-sounding  name.^  Champlain  was 
merely  an  early  tourist,  inquisitive  and  fond  of  making  boyish 
maps.  He  reached  San  Juan  de  Puerto  Rico  not  very  long  after 
Lord  Cumberland  had  left.  He  found  the  island  "  pretty 
agreeable,"  he  says,  but  "  the  air  very  hot."  From  a  tourist's  point 
of  view  there  was  not  much  to  be  seen.  The  English  had  pillaged 
the  town  very  thoroughly,  had  burnt  most  of  the  houses,  had 
wrecked  the  fortress  and  thrown  down  the  ramparts.  Moreover 
they  had  taken  away  all  the  ships  in  the  harbour  to  the  number  of 
twelve,  as  well  as  fifty  pieces  of  artillery  of  cast  iron. 

The  English,  together  with  the  fever,  had  made  the  city  so 
vilely  unpleasant  that  the  inhabitants  had  fled  to  the  wilds. 
Indeed,  Champlain  says  that  there  were  only  four  white  people  in 
the  place.  He  probably  met  one  of  these  as  he  walked  up  the 
ruined  street  from  the  quay,  and  had,  as  a  sympathetic  Frenchman, 
to  listen  to  lamentations  more  acute  and  varied  than  those  of 
Jeremiah.  If  the  citizen  was  a  merchant  he  would  take  the  tourist 
into  his  ruined  store  and,  with  spread  out  arms,  show  him  what 
the  perfidious  English  had  done,  and  ask  him  what  he  thought  of 
it.  As  the  two  sat  upon  rifled  chests,  cursing  the  British,  it  is 
possible  that  Champlain  and  his  host  cheered  themselves  with  a 
little  brandy  from  an  unravished  hiding-place.  They  would  then 
take  a  stroll  round  the  ruins,  hear  tales  of  woe  from  the  three  other 
white  people,  and  watch  the  wretched  Indians  at  work  repairing 
the  ramparts. 

It  only  remains  to  speak  of  the  personality  of  the  man  who 
wrought  all  this  ill.     George,  Earl  of  Cumberland,  was  forty  years 

'  Samuel  Champlain'*  Voyage,  1599-1602,     Hakluyt  Society,  1859, 

Q 


226  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

old  when  he  took  San  Juan.  He  was  a  peer  of  bold  and  romantic 
spirit,  with  a  fine  passion  for  adventure  worthy  of  the  picturesque 
days  of  Elizabeth.  His  early  life  is  unkindly  described  as  having 
been  "irregular."  He  was  a  courtier,  a  gambler,  a  man  of 
immense  strength  and  courage,  perfect  in  all  knightly  exercises, 
and  a  consistently  faithless  husband.  At  the  age  of  twenty-eight 
the  conviction  came  upon  him  that  a  corsair's  life  was  the  only 
one  that  gave  scope  to  his  yearnings  and  his  ideals.  He  there- 
upon wandered  to  and  fro  over  the  sea  for  years  as  a  knight- 
errant,  or,  according  to  the  estimate  of  some,  as  a  nautical  Don 
Quixote.  In  the  calling  of  a  buccaneer  he  was  successful  beyond 
all  reasonable  deserts.  He  commanded  a  ship  against  the  Spanish 
Armada.     He  was  a  Knight  of  the  Garter. 

It  is  little  to  be  wondered  if  this  handsome,  strong,  and 
splendidly  dressed  dare-devil  was  in  favour  with  Queen  Elizabeth. 
"  He  wore  her  glove,  set  with  diamonds,  as  a  plume  in  his  hat." 
So  far  as  I  am  aware  nothing  is  known  of  the  pretty  circum- 
stances which  led  to  the  bestowal  of  the  glove,  of  the  bold  corsair's 
sighs  or  of  his  lady's  graciousness.  Certain  it  is  that  this  soft 
thing  which  had  once  touched  the  warm  fingers  of  his  Queen 
became  for  life  his  crest  and  badge.  One  may  be  sure  that  he 
wore  it  when  he  led  his  men  up  to  the  walls  of  the  city  on  that 
morning  in  June.  It  may  be  that  for  years  in  Puerto  Rico  some 
story  was  handed  down  to  the  children  of  how  the  great  gate  of 
San  Juan  was  rushed  by  a  giant  Englishman  wearing  a  lady's 
glove  in  his  hat. 

There  is  a  portrait  of  the  earl  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery. 
It  was  painted  in  1588,  the  year  of  the  Armada,  when  he  was 
thirty  years  of  age.  It  shows  a  man  with  a  fine  vigorous 
face,  a  small  moustache,  a  pointed  beard,  and  long,  curly  brown 
hair.  His  armour  and  his  dress  are  magnificent,  while  jewels  of 
price  hang  about  his  neck.  On  his  head  is  a  white  hat  with 
plumes.  In  front  of  it  is  his  lady's  glove  so  folded  as  to  show  the 
claret-coloured  velvet  cuff.  It  is  a  dainty  glove,  bright  with 
diamonds,  and  made  to  encircle  none  but  a  little  wrist.  It  would 
not  be  ill  matched,  in  sooth,  when  its  fragile  fingers  were  lying  in 
the  grip  of  the  sailor's  mighty  hand. 


XLIV. 

THE   SAN   JUAN   OF   TO-DAY. 

San  Juan  of  Puerto  Rico  is  a  Spanish  city  of  dashing  colours, 
very  pleasant  to  see  as  it  breaks  into  view  when  entering  the 
harbour.  The  houses  are  packed  together  within  the  great 
black  wall,  there  being  but  little  green  to  relieve  the  pile  of 
many-windowed,  many-towered  stucco  and  stone.  The  narrow 
streets  are  paved  and  clean,  and,  although  a  little  oppressive,  are 
refreshed  at  every  turn  by  glimpses  of  the  sea.  The  houses, 
mostly  flat-roofed,  are  lavish  in  balconies  and  sun-shutters,  in 
barred  windows,  and  in  lazy  courtyards  full  of  shadows.  Carts 
drawn  by  blas6-looking  oxen  creak  and  groan  by  the  side  of 
electric  tramcars,  while  mules,  covered  with  the  dust  of  far-off 
roads,  are  constantly  plodding  through  the  city  gates.  There  are, 
in  the  town,  certain  much-painted  churches,  some  of  great  age, 
a  central  plaza,  public  buildings  too  dazzling  to  look  upon  when 
the  sun  is  bright,  infinite  taverns  to  meet  the  infinite  leisure  of  the 
Spaniard,  and  many  curious  by-lanes  reminiscent  of  Madrid. 

The  folk  in  the  street  are,  as  to  their  complexions,  for  the  most 
part  white,  yellow  or  cinnamon  brown.  Among  them  are  hand- 
some men  and  beautiful  women,  with  a  still  greater  number  who 
are  mean  and  undersized,  and  not  free  from  suspicions  of 
degeneracy.  There  are  divers  old  Spanish  families  in  the  island, 
some  of  whom  may  have  "  come  over "  with  Ponce  de  Leon. 
They  have  preserved,  through  long  centuries  and  to  their  own 
detriment,  the  hauteur  and  the  exclusiveness  of  a  conquering 
people.     In  spite  of  1898,  San  Juan  is  still  Spanish  to  the  core. 

The  negro  is  not  much  in  evidence  except  with  the  ox-waggon 
or  the  mules,  or  squatting  by  baskets  of  fruit  exposed  along  the 

Q2 


228  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

wayside.  Everywhere  are  to  be  seen  proofs  of  the  excellence  of 
the  American  administration,  with  signs  of  the  times,  which  show 
that  no  mean  part  of  the  trade  of  the  city  is  falling  into  American 
hands. 

At  the  east  end  of  the  town,  and  by  the  edge  of  the  sea,  is  the 
mighty  fort  of  San  Cristobal,  built  in  1771.  It  covers  an  immense 
area,  being  indeed  in  itself  a  small  walled  city.  That  side  which 
looks  seaward  shows  a  relentless  wall  at  whose  foot  break,  with 
sounds  of  thunder,  the  rollers  from  the  Atlantic.  Here  and  there 
a  stone  sentry  box  juts  out  from  the  curtain — a  human  feature 
among  this  mountainous  heap  of  masonry. 

About  the  fortress  is  a  great  fosse  with  a  heavy  scarp  on  either 
side.  Beyond  the  fosse  are  confusing  outworks — a  tenaille  or  two  in 
the  enceinte  ditch,  with  possibly  a  caponiere  across  the  same.  All 
the  awe-inspiring  and  amazing  features  of  a  huge  stronghold  are 
here  displayed — bastions,  domed  magazines,  mysterious  alleys, 
precipices  of  stone,  ravines  of  masonry,  paved  platforms,  repellent 
doorways. 

When  Fort  Cristobal  was  built  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth 
century  it  was  a  wonder  for  men  to  see.  Here  at  last  was  the  place 
impregnable.  Here  was  the  challenge,  the  gauntlet  thrown  down 
by  the  Spaniard  to  the  sea  rover  whatever  his  breed.  There  is 
about  the  citadel  even  now  all  the  arrogance  of  the  strong  man 
armed,  the  hush  of  a  place  that  deals  with  death,  the  cruelty  of 
cunning  walls  that  bristle  with  means  to  kill.  Fort  Cristobal  with 
its  boastful  parade  of  the  resources  of  war  might  be  a  temple  to 
the  God  of  Battle,  a  palace  of  Bellona. 

Possibly  the  most  haunting  features  of  the  great  fort  are  the 
dungeons.  Tales  of  the  Middle  Ages  would  lead  one  to  expect 
that  the  prison  doors  would  be  approached  by  way  of  a  dark  and 
winding  stair,  or  by  vaulted  passages  muffled  with  mould.  In 
this  particular  stronghold,  however,  there  is  a  certain  mockery 
about  the  entry  to  the  torture  chambers. 

In  a  little  square,  between  two  high  walls,  is  a  plat  of  grass. 
On  one  side  the  square  is  open  to  the  sea,  being  indeed  bounded 
by  a  parapet  where  an  idler  might  lean  over  and  watch  the  waves. 
Among  the  grass  of  this  monastic  lawn  are  many  sensitive  plants, 


THE   SAN   JUAN    OF   TO-DAY.  229 

as  well  as  a  purple  flower  very  like  a  violet.  At  the  foot  of  one  of 
the  walls  which  shut  in  this  quiet  close  is  a  black  gap,  low  and 
narrow,  like  the  opening  into  a  den.  It  is  so  low  that  one  has  to 
stoop  to  enter  it. 

It  leads  into  a  downward-sloping  passage  which  makes  its  way 
under  the  mass  of  the  fortifications.  The  tunnel  stretches  far  into 
the  depths,  until  the  comforting  gleam  of  light  at  the  entrance 
fades  to  a  small  disc  of  haze  and  then  vanishes  entirely,  leaving 
the  gloom  trackless.  By  the  time  the  dungeons  are  reached  the 
air  is  already  suffocating,  while  there  is  a  sense  of  being  crushed 
under  an  avalanche  of  rock. 

The  passage  leads  to  some  six  cells,  mere  cramped  recesses 
lined  with  stone.  Each  shows  a  niche  in  the  wall  subtly  contrived 
to  take  a  human  body  if  bent  up  in  the  sitting  position.  There  is 
a  groove  cut  in  the  roof  to  take  the  nape  of  the  neck,  the  chin 
would  be  pressed  almost  to  the  knees,  while  an  iron  bar  bolted 
across  the  chest  would  keep  the  victim  still,  as  well  as  hold  up  the 
limp  body  when  death  had  made  it  helpless. 

No  light  of  day  can  ever  reach  these  catacombs.  No  sound 
can  penetrate  so  far.  Such  air  as  finds  its  way  thus  deep  into  the 
earth  is  spent  and  tainted.  Here  is  it  possible  to  realise  the 
circumstances  of  being  buried  alive,  to  apprehend  the  crushing  to 
death  by  inches,  the  struggle  to  lift  a  mountain  of  stone,  the 
agony  of  being  throttled,  the  eternal  dark,  the  sense  of  being 
abandoned.  Here  the  trapped  wretch  would  be  pinned,  gasping 
like  a  drowning  man,  crumpled  up  like  a  hunchback,  until  he 
shrivelled  to  a  thing  of  leather,  and  in  the  end  to  a  mere  knot  of 
contorted  bones. 

Upon  these  dungeons  have  been  expended  infinite  labour, 
complacent  skill,  cool  precision,  and  diabolical  ingenuity.  They 
will  remain  for  ever  as  a  monument  of  what  is  possible  to  be 
conceived  in  the  bitter  depths  of  human  cruelty  and  hate.  To 
retravcrse  the  back-breaking  passage  from  the  charnel-house  to 
the  open  air  is  to  awaken  from  a  fearsome  dream.  It  was  a 
memorable  relief  to  see  once  more  the  sun  on  the  plat  of  grass,  to 
stand  erect  and  breathe,  and  to  hear  at  the  foot  of  the  rocks  the 
reassuring  sound  of  the  sea. 


230  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 


XLV. 

THE   WHITE   HOUSE. 

The  walled  capital  of  Puerto  Rico  will  be  for  ever  associated 
with  the  life  and  times  of  that  most  romantic  adventurer, 
Juan  Ponce  de  Leon.  This  picturesque  Castilian  was  a  soldier 
of  fortune,  who  had  already  served  in  many  campaigns  before  he 
embarked  with  Columbus  on  his  second  voyage  in  1493. 

Ponce  de  Leon  in  due  course  settled  in  the  turbulent,  murder- 
ridden  island  of  Espanola,  where  he  became  lieutenant  to  the 
governor,  and  where  he  perfected  himself  in  the  arts  of  Indian 
warfare.  As  a  hunter  and  slayer  of  Indians  he  acquired 
imperishable  fame.  In  1508  he  went  with  an  armed  force  to 
Puerto  Rico,  found  the  island  peopled  by  the  gentle  Arawaks,  and 
proceeded,  in  the  Spanish  fashion,  to  wipe  them  off  the  face  of  the 
earth.  They  died  very  hard  ;  but  left  no  traces  of  themselves 
except  in  records  of  native  risings,  of  Spanish  houses  in  flames, 
and  of  white  men  stumbled  upon  in  woods,  dead  and  mutilated. 
In  1509  Ponce  de  Leon  was  appointed  Governor  of  Puerto  Rico, 
where,  two  years  later,  he  founded  the  city  of  San  Juan  Bautista. 
Here  he  lived  in  the  Casa  Blanca,  the  White  House,  which  he 
built  for  himself  by  the  margin  of  the  harbour. 

Time  was  beginning  to  tell  upon  the  intrepid  soldier.  Three 
years  of  alert  fighting  in  a  treacherous  country  had  sapped  his 
vigour ;  three  years  of  the  tropics  had  damped  that  fiery  and 
disdainful  spirit  which  had  made  him  a  leader  of  men.  Although 
he  had  but  reached  the  age  of  fifty-two  he  was  already  an  old  man. 
He  who  had  been  the  imperious  ruler  was  losing  his  grip  upon  the 
neck  of  affairs.  He  who  had  feared  nothing  was  now  haunted  by 
a  hundred  dreads.     The  man  whose  voice  had  been  the  voice  of 


THE   WHITE   HOUSE.  231 

a  god,  had  come  to  be  mocked  by  underlings,  and  defied  by 
creatures  he  had  Hfted  from  the  dust.  Like  the  lion  who  was 
once  king  of  the  forest,  but  who  had  become  aged  and  toothless, 
he  could  now  only  stand  with  his  back  against  a  rock  and  snarl 
at  those  who  essayed  to  snap  at  him. 

If  there  could  return  once  more  the  strength  and  daring  of 
bygone  days  !  If  it  were  but  possible  to  feel  again  in  his  veins 
the  stirring  pulse  of  youth  !  What  a  dream  would  that  be  to 
gloat  over,  whenever  he  had  turned  from  the  council  chamber 
thwarted,  and  sore  at  heart ! 

As  he  fretted  within  the  walls  of  Casa  Blanca,  pondering  these 
things,  he  heard  some  story  of  an  island  where  was  a  spring  of 
water,  of  which  all  who  drank  had  restored  to  them  the  dash  and 
vigour  of  youth.  Here  then  it  seemed  was  the  substance  of  his 
longing.  At  all  hazards  he  would  search  the  world  for  this 
fountain  of  life  and  find  it.  The  very  thought  filled  his  mind 
with  warm  fancies  and  extravagant  imaginings.  He  learned  that 
the  spring  was  in  an  island  called  Bimini,  away  to  the  north. 
With  the  haste  of  one  whose  days  are  few,  he  fitted  out  three 
ships  and  sailed  from  Puerto  Rico  on  March  3,  15 12,  taking  his 
departure  from  San  German  on  the  west  of  the  island. 

Now  Bimini  was  to  be  found — so  the  soothsayer  affirmed — 
among  the  Bahamas.  It  was  an  unlikely  spot  for  the  Fountain  of 
Youth,  inasmuch  as  the  Bahamas  are  a  prosaic  group  of  sandstone 
islets  and  rocks,  poor  of  soil  and  but  thinly  wooded.  Some  are 
indeed  mere  wastes  of  scrub,  given  over  to  sea  birds  and  turtles. 
They  are  dangerous  of  approach,  which  was  a  good  omen  in  the 
eyes  of  the  pursuer  of  youth,  for  it  may  be  supposed  that  Bimini 
the  precious  would  be  guarded  by  dragons  in  the  form  of  coral 
reefs  and  death-scattering  shoals. 

Had  Ponce  de  Leon  possessed  the  advantage  of  consulting  the 
Admiralty  "West  India  Pilot"  he  would  have  found  it  reported 
(in  volume  ii.)  that  among  the  Bahamas  "good  water  is  rather 
scarce."  According  to  the  same  authority  the  Bimini  Islands, 
two  in  number,  are  mean  and  sandy,  being  "  covered  with  small 
wood  to  the  height  of  about  forty  feet."     On  the  nortli  island  "  is 


232  THE   CRADLE   OF  THE   DEEP. 

a  small  settlement  and  a  resident  magistrate ;  and  vessels  in 
distress  may  obtain  water  and  supplies  sufficient  for  the  moment." 
It  is  not  stated  that  the  water  has  any  medicinal  or  magic 
properties. 

In  the  course  of  his  search  the  expectant  Juan  incidentally 
discovered  Florida.  He  called  it  Florida,  it  would  seem,  because 
his  mind  was  full  of  thoughts  of  the  budding  flowers  that  grace  the 
boy  and  girl  time  of  the  year. 

He  landed  at  every  island  or  cay  he  came  upon,  and  as  they 
number  some  hundreds  in  this  region  he  was  well  engaged.  He 
drank  of  every  spring,  pool  or  puddle  that  the  islands  could 
muster.  During  the  course  of  his  experiments  on  this  spa-hunting 
quest  he  must  have  drunk  brackish  water,  dirty  water  as  well  as 
water  that  made  him  sick. 

Still  there  was  hope  in  every  draught.  He  would  fill  his  cup 
at  the  last  discovered  spring,  would  gaze  at  it  with  the  expectancy 
of  a  toper  reviewing  a  precious  wine,  would  gulp  it  down,  and  then, 
drawing  himself  erect  and  squaring  his  shoulders,  would  wait  for 
that  glow  in  the  veins  and  that  tightening  of  the  muscles  which 
would  tell  that  he  had  reached  the  fountain  that  made  all  men 
young.  Lack  of  information  as  to  the  therapeutics  of  the  desired 
beverage  would  involve  some  uncertainty  as  to  how  long  it  would 
take  for  the  dose  to  act  The  miracle  might  work  when  he  was 
deep  in  sleep !  Filled  with  this  hope  he  would  spring  from  his 
couch  in  the  morning  and  rush  to  the  mirror,  hoping  to  find 
reflected  there  the  ruddy  cheeks  of  a  lad  with  down  upon  his  lips, 
and  a  merry  gleam  in  his  eyes.  Alas  !  he  met  instead  with  the 
old,  familiar,  shrunken  visage,  the  lined  brow,  the  wearied  eyes, 
the  grey  tuft  of  scanty  beard. 

Every  native  that  the  adventurer  encountered  was  questioned 
as  to  the  Fountain  of  Life,  although  he  might  as  well  have  been 
interrogated  as  to  the  Binomial  Theorem,  Every  man  with  whom 
the  Castilian  could  obtain  speech  was  pressed  by  the  ever  repeated, 
piteous  demand,  "Tell  me  the  way  to  Bimini,"  It  was  like 
a  child  at  Christmas  time,  wandering  about  with  an  empty 
stocking  and  asking  everyone  if  he  had  met  Santa  Claus. 


THE   WHITE    HOUSE.  233 

On  one  small  island,  on  a  certain  day  in  his  journeying,  he 
found  an  aged  Indian  woman.  She  was  the  sole  human  being 
on  the  desolate  spot.  It  is  probable  that  she  had  been  left  there 
to  die,  or  had  been  turned  adrift  in  a  canoe  without  paddles,  and 
had  found  herself  cast  upon  this  particular  shore.  It  may  not  be 
too  much  to  suppose  that  she  was  the  scold  and  virago  of  her 
native  village,  an  old  harridan  of  whose  tongue  everybody  went  in 
dread,  yet  whom  no  one  dared  to  murder  outright.  Perhaps  she 
was  carried  off  one  night  with  her  head  in  a  bag,  squealing, 
scratching,  and  fire-spitting,  to  be  dropped  into  a  canoe  when  the 
tide  was  running  strong. 

The  stately  Ponce  de  Leon  asked  her,  of  course,  if  she  knew 
Bimini  and  the  Spring  of  Eternal  Youth.  She  replied,  with  the 
readiness  of  Sapphira,  that  she  knew  both  the  island  and  the 
fountain  well.  She  was  probably  not  called  upon  to  explain  why 
she  herself  had  not  drunk  of  its  water,  or  why,  if  she  had  so  drunk, 
the  result  was  so  exceedingly  discouraging.  She  was  rowed  off  to 
the  ship  as  a  pearl  of  great  price,  to  become  her  saviour's  guide, 
philosopher  and  friend. 

So  the  two  started  off  together  on  the  great  quest,  a  curious 
couple  in  very  truth,  the  spotless  knight,  the  Sir  Galahad  of  the 
West,  and  this  toothless,  unsavoury  old  beldame,  who  jabbered 
and  chattered  all  day  long,  and  who  was  constantly  dragged  out 
of  the  hold  (where  she  had  been  put  for  peace)  to  see  if  this  island 
or  that  was  the  real  Isle  of  the  Blessed.  How  the  deluded  soldier 
would  scan  her  wrinkled  face  each  time  as  she  looked  shoreward  ; 
how  he  would  gaze  into  her  cunning  eyes  for  the  light  of 
recognition  ;  with  what  impatience  would  he  wait  for  the  first 
words  that  dropped  from  her  mumbling  lips  I 

Ponce  de  Leon  and  the  dirty  old  woman  travelled  together  for 
many  months,  but  no  fountain  was  come  upon.  She  became 
more  jovial  and  less  bony,  while  he  only  felt  himself  weighed 
down  more  heavily  by  age  as  each  day  passed.  After  much 
travail  he  returned  to  Puerto  Rico  and  to  the  Casa  Blanca  with  ita 
restful  garden,  His  faith  in  the  ancient  crone,  who  had  been  so 
long  his  shipmate,  never  faltered.     So  deep  was  he  under  her  spell 


234  THE   CRADLE   OF  THE   DEEP. 

that  he  sent  her  off  again  upon  the  high  seas  with  his  captain, 
Juan  Perez,  to  continue  the  search  for  this  precious  fountain  which 
all  the  time  was  running  recklessly  to  waste. 

The  grimy  old  lady  must  have  become  quite  a  mariner,  quite 
an  authority  on  the  Bahamas,  as  well  as  a  finished  expert  in  the 
art  of  lying.  After  many  months  of  absence,  Juan  Perez  dropped 
his  anchor  one  day  in  the  harbour  over  against  the  White  House, 
and,  rowing  ashore,  came  to  tell  his  master,  with  downcast  face 
and  hat  in  hand,  that  the  quest  had  failed.  What  became  of  that 
ancient  mariner,  the  lady  pilot,  is  not  known.  I  expect  that 
Juan  Perez,  maddened  by  her  babble  and  sick  of  her  story-telling, 
dropped  her  once  more  into  a  canoe  without  paddles  and  reported 
her — on  his  return — as  having  flown  away  upon  a  witch's  broom- 
stick. 

As  to  Ponce  de  Leon,  his  vanity  and  restlessness,  together 
with  the  flattery  of  his  friends,  brought  him  to  his  end.  After 
some  leisured  years  he  felt  that  he  must  needs  display  once  more 
to  the  admiring  world  his  long  latent  talents  as  a  fighter  of 
Indians.  So  with  nothing  less  than  a  fleet  from  Spain  he 
proceeded  to  rid  the  islands  and  the  adjacent  seas  of  the 
obnoxious  native.  He  commenced  his  operations  at  Guadaloupe, 
was  received  not  by  gentle  Arawaks  but  by  a  teeth-gnashing 
company  of  lusty  Caribs,  who,  without  more  ado,  ambushed  and 
killed  most  of  his  men. 

The  great  Indian  fighter  had  failed.  He  was  beaten  in  his 
very  first  essay  by  a  pack  of  naked  cannibals  ;  so,  sick  at  heart,  he 
returned  ingloriously  once  more  to  the  Casa  Blanca.  Here  he 
was  content  to  stay  and  build  castles  in  the  air,  and  strut  the  part 
of  governor,  a  peevish,  testy,  conceited  old  man,  whom  folk  were 
disposed  to  humour  compassionately. 

In  1 52 1 — by  which  time  he  was  sixty-one  and  a  tiresome  old 
dodderer — he  must  needs  go  forth  to  conquer  Florida,  and  by  this 
exploit  eclipse  the  deeds  of  Cortes  and  Pizarro.  He  made  a 
landing  on  the  coast,  with  fine  bluster  and  ceremony  no  doubt, 
but  was  driven  back  to  his  boats  by  the  Indians,  who  in  the 
process  wounded  the  crazy  old  soldier  in  the  thigh.     This  little 


THE   WHITE   HOUSE.  235 

rebuff,  involving,  as  it  did,  much  puffing  and  panting,  left  him 
resolved  to  go  home  again  and  resume  his  gardening.  He  had 
had  in  one  day  enough  of  empire-making,  being,  moreover,  fully- 
satisfied  that  Pizarro  was  not  a  man  he  was  disposed  to  flatter  by 
further  imitation. 

Poor  soul  !  his  ship  reached  only  so  far  as  Cuba,  where  he  was 
carried  ashore  and  where  he  died. 

The  visitor  to  San  Juan  will  readily  find  the  Casa  Blanca.  It 
stands  on  a  bluff  overlooking  the  harbour,  a  great  white,  rambling 
house,  which  is  still  a  place  of  authority,  for  it  is  the  Headquarters 
of  the  United  States  Army.  Of  the  white  house  that  Ponce  de 
Leon  knew  and  loved,  it  is  safe  to  say  that  no  stone  exists.  But 
the  garden  is  there  with  its  picturesque  slopes,  its  nodding  palms, 
and  its  glorious  outlook  across  the  shining  lagoon.  Well  might 
the  man  who  dallied  in  this  pleasance  sigh  for  eternal  youth,  so 
that  the  enchanting  scene  should  never  fade,  or  become  out  of  tune 
or  unappreciated. 

Surrounding  the  garden  is  a  most  noticeable  wall,  white  from 
end  to  end,  very  ancient  and  very  curiously  crenellated.  It  has 
about  it  so  wizen  a  look,  that  one  is  tempted  to  believe  that  it  was 
built  by  him  who  sought  the  Fountain  of  Youth,  and  that  a 
memory  of  this  very  garden,  with  its  white  wall,  survived  the 
medley  of  arms  and  men  that  crowded  upon  his  brain  as  he  lay 
dying  in  Cuba. 


236  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 


XLVI. 

MONA   THE   PROTESTANT. 

On  the  way  from  Sair  Juan  de  Puerto  Rico  to  San  Domingo  the 
steamer  passes  close  to  Mona  Island.  This  remarkable  piece  of 
land  appears  to  have  planted  itself  in  these  seas  as  a  protest 
against  the  luxury,  the  extravagance,  and  the  general  profligacy  of 
the  whole  gathering  of  West  Indian  Islands.  These  islands  are 
characterised — as  none  can  gainsay — by  a  recklessness  of  out- 
line, by  a  lavish  display  of  hills  and  peaks,  by  frivolous  capes  and 
coves,  and  by  a  meretricious  flaunting  of  garish  colours. 

Mona  the  Protestant  stands  alone  among  this  giddy  company, 
a  St.  John  crying  in  the  wilderness.  Solemn  and  austere,  it 
would  claim  to  be,  in  a  careless  land,  a  pattern  of  righteousness. 
Its  surface  is  an  absolutely  dead,  monotonous,  self-mortifying 
level.  Nothing  so  gay  even  as  a  hillock  disturbs  its  surface.  No 
suspicion  of  green,  no  trace  of  colour,  defiles  its  sanctimonious 
outline.  From  point  to  point  it  is  one  relentless  monastic  grey. 
As  a  rebuke  to  such  furbelows  as  creeks  and  promontories,  its 
chaste  circuit  is  marked  by  an  undeviating,  sour  cliff,  as  numb  as 
a  prison  wall. 

This  sea-girt  recluse  appears,  indeed,  to  have  stripped  itself  of 
every  possible  feature  that  could  make  an  island  joyous.  Viewed 
from  a  distance  it  looks  like  a  slab  of  dull  paving  stone  resting  on 
the  ocean.  As  even  the  severest  ascetic  has  probably  some 
hidden  weaknesses,  so  Mona  is  said  to  present  certain  pits  and 
holes  on  its  solemn  surface,  where  are  surreptitious  scrub  and  even 
pertches  of  grass.  It  nourishes  in  its  shrunken  bosom,  moreover, 
goats,  hogs,  and  tortoises,  and  has  so  far  yielded  to  the 
temptations  of  the  mercenary    world   as   to  harbour   a   German 


MONA   THE    PROTESTANT.  237 

company   who   dig   foul-smelling    guano   within    its    melancholy 
confines. 

It  boasts  also  of  a  tortured  rock  which  is  in  a  state  of  eternal 
penance,  for  it  is  balanced  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice  where  it 
appears  to  be  ever  on  the  point  of  toppling  over.  This 
purgatorial  stone  is  called  "  Caigo-o-no-caigo "  ("  Shall  I  fall  or 
not  ?  ")  Across  the  Mona  passage,  to  which  this  island  gives  its 
name,  stands  Haiti,  to  the  chief  city  of  which — San  Domingo — ■- 
the  steamer  is  bound. 


238       THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP 


XLVn. 

THE   ISLAND  OF   MISRULE. 

The  island  of  Haiti,  or  Espanola,  was  discovered  by  Columbus, 
during  his  first  voyage,  on  December  6,  1492.  He  was  fascinated 
with  it  from  the  moment  he  came  in  sight  of  its  shores.  He 
found  the  climate  to  be  like  May  in  Cordova,  and  the  hills  and 
valleys  to  rival  in  loveliness  those  of  Castile,  so  he  called  the 
island  Espanola.  It  was  destined  to  be  associated  in  his  career 
with  little  more  than  disappointment  and  misfortune. 

He  made  the  north  coast  of  the  island,  and  on  Christmas  Eve 
sailed  into  Acul  Bay.  Near  here  his  own  ship,  the  famous 
Santa  Maria,  went  haplessly  ashore  and  became  a  total  wreck. 
Somewhere  under  the  sands  about  this  bay  are  still  lying  the 
brown  keel  and  bilge  timbers  of  this  great  three-masted  galleon 
of  100  tons  in  which  the  discovery  of  the  New  World  was 
made. 

Among  the  crew  of  the  Santa  Maria  were  an  Englishman 
named  Tallarte,  or  Allard,  and  an  Irishman  who  is  entered  on  the 
ship's  books  as  William  of  Galway.  How  these  two  adventurous 
mariners  came  to  find  themselves  at  Palos,  whence  the  expedition 
sailed,  is  unknown.  They  probably  enlisted  for  the  venture  as 
a  means  of  escaping  the  rigours  of  a  Spanish  gaol.  Anyhow 
Columbus  when  he  returned  home  the  first  time  left  Allard  and 
William  behind  on  Haiti  with  forty  others.  They  were  enjoined 
to  collect  gold  and  to  form  a  colony  at  a  spot  named  La  Navidad, 
where  a  fort  had  been  already  built.     This  was  in  January  1493. 

Now  Columbus  did  not  return  to  Espanola  until  November 
1493,  and  in  the  meanwhile  no  tidings  had  reached  him  of  this 
first  city  of  his  founding.     He  approached    La    Navidad  on  his 


THE    ISLAND   OF   MISRULE.  239 

second  coming  with  the  most  eager  interest.  So  impatient  was  he 
that  he  sent  a  boat  ashore  with  an  exploring  party  as  soon  as  he 
came  in  touch  with  the  coast.  On  the  sands  of  a  lonely  river, 
fringed  no  doubt  by  the  green  sea  grape,  the  party  landed.  The 
first  noticeable  things  they  happened  upon  were  two  dead  bodies, 
one  with  a  rope  round  its  neck  and  the  other  with  a  rope  round  its 
feet.  They  were  two  of  the  crew  of  the  Santa  Maria.  In  such 
wise  was  the  admiral  welcomed  to  his  new  possessions  in  the 
earthly  paradise. 

Columbus  hurried  on  to  La  Navidad  and  reached  the  haven  at 
nightfall.  There  was  no  light  to  be  seen  on  the  shore.  He  fired 
off  two  guns,  expecting  still  a  joyous  response  from  the  beach, 
2Lfeu  dejoie  from  the  fort,  bonfires,  Spanish  cheers,  and  a  crowd  of 
beaming  men  in  hurriedly  paddled  canoes,  tearing  across  the  bay. 
No  answer  came.     La  Navidad  was  silent. 

He  landed  at  daybreak  with  vehement  anxiety.  No  boat 
could  be  seen  in  the  harbour.  There  was  not  a  soul  on  the  beach. 
As  he  jumped  ashore  the  land  crabs  scuttled  away  to  their  holes. 
He  made  for  the  fort.  It  was  deserted  and  in  ashes,  while 
among  the  cinders,  as  he  kicked  them  to  and  fro,  were  bleached 
bones  and  fragments  of  clothing.  In  some  native  huts  in  the 
thicket  he  found  a  Moorish  mantle,  an  anchor,  and  a  dead  man's 
head  wrapped  up  in  a  basket. 

The  truth  came  out  at  last.  La  Navidad  had  ceased  to  be. 
Every  one  of  the  company  of  forty-two  was  dead,  including 
Allard  of  England  and  William  of  Galway.  The  colonists,  as 
soon  as  the  admiral's  ship  was  out  of  sight,  had  abandoned 
themselves  to  every  kind  of  excess.  The  robbing  of  the  Indians 
and  the  seizing  of  their  wives  and  daughters  became  favourite 
pastimes.  Murder  followed  incidentally.  Some  of  the  settlers  died 
of  their  debaucheries  ;  others  succumbed  to  disease ;  while  those 
who  remained  were  butchered  by  the  infuriated  natives. 

Thus  the  attempt  to  fill  the  coffers  of  Spain  with  gold,  to 
found  a  city,  and  to  diffuse  the  blessings  of  civilisation  among 
a  godless  and  benighted  people  came  to  piteous  failure.  At 
La    Navidad   were   reaped    the    first    fruits   of  Spain's  "glorious 


240  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE    DEEP. 

conquest  and  discovery."  The  most  that  could  be  claimed  in  the 
matter  of  glory  was  that  six  poor  heathens,  taken  to  Spain  by 
Columbus  on  his  first  leaving  Espaftola,  had  been  received, 
through  baptism,  into  the  Holy  Faith,  and  had  so  secured  "  the 
safety  of  their  souls." 

Columbus  the  dreamer — quite  undismayed  by  the  disaster  at 
La  Navidad — sailed  eastwards  along  the  coast,  and  established 
another  city,  which  he  called  Ysabel  after  that  lady  with  the  rare 
blue  eyes,  her  Most  Catholic  Majesty  the  Queen  of  Castile.  This 
was  in  December  1493.  The  city  was  to  become  one  of  the 
marvels  of  the  world.  It  was  to  outshine  all  the  glories  of  Cathay. 
It  was  to  dominate  a  country  more  favoured  than  the  golden 
Chersonese,  more  full  of  riches  than  the  plains  of  Ophir  ;  for  this 
was  the  veritable  land  of  Havilah,  of  which  it  had  been  truly  said 
"  and  the  gold  of  that  land  is  good." 

The  city  of  Ysabel  never  rose  beyond  a  poor  patch  of  mud  and 
wattle  huts,  with  perhaps  a  stone  fort  and  a  pretence  at  a  quay. 
The  hidalgo  who  had  sailed  with  Columbus  as  a  conqueror  of 
strange  lands  and  a  founder  of  cities,  was  pictured  by  his  friends 
in  Seville  as  strutting  along  a  causeway  in  Ysabel,  paved  with 
gold,  attended  by  cringing  Indians  who  carried  before  him  baskets 
full  of  precious  stones  and  incredible  spices.  In  reality  the 
famished  aristocrat,  sick  with  fever,  was  probably  sitting  on  a  box 
full  of  rotten  stores,  his  silk  doublet  in  rags,  his  hose  in  holes, 
his  feet  well  nigh  shoeless.  He  was  pricking  patterns  with  his 
sword  in  the  fetid  mud  which  made  up  the  only  street  of  the  City 
of  Despair,  wondering  if  there  was  any  slum  in  Spain  so  pitiable 
and  so  comfortless. 

Ysabel,  the  long  forgotten,  is  now  buried  beneath  the  jungle. 
"  Nothing  remains  to  point  out  its  exact  locality  but  the  ruins  of 
a  single  pillar  almost  hid  among  the  bushes  near  the  beach."  ^ 

Finally  Columbus,  hearing  of  gold  in  the  south  of  the  island, 
established  the  town  of  San  Domingo  at  the  mouth  of  the  Ozama 
River.  The  town  flourished,  waxing  rich  and  very  famous,  and 
exists  to  this  day  as  the  chief  city  of  the  island, 

'   fVesi  India  Pilot ^  vol.  ii.  page  271  :  London,  1899. 


THE    ISLAND   OF   MISRULE.  241 

Spanish  rule  in  the  beautiful  island  of  Espafiola  was  terrible 
beyond  all  thinking.  The  whole  native  population  was  exter- 
minated, as  has  been  already  detailed  (page  17 1).  "If  there  be 
any  powers  of  hell,  they  stalked  at  large  through  the  forests  and 
valleys  of  Espafiola.  Lust  and  bloody  cruelty,  of  a  kind  not  merely 
indescribable  but  unrealisable  by  sane  men  and  women,  drenched 
the  once  happy  island  with  anguish  and  terror.  And  in  payment 
for  it  the  Spaniards  undertook  to  teach  the  heathen  the  Christian 
religion.  ...  In  the  twelve  years  since  the  discovery  of  Columbus, 
between  half  a  million  and  a  million  natives  perished  ;  and  as  the 
Spanish  colonisation  spread  afterwards  from  island  to  island,  and 
the  banner  of  civilisation  and  Christianity  was  borne  farther 
abroad  throughout  the  Indies,  the  same  hideous  process  was 
continued.  In  Cuba,  in  Jamaica,  throughout  the  Antilles,  the 
cross  and  the  sword,  the  whip-lash  and  the  Gospel,  advanced 
together  ;  wherever  the  Host  was  consecrated,  hideous  cries  of 
agony  and  suffering  broke  forth  ;  until  happily,  in  the  fulness  of 
time,  the  dire  business  was  complete,  and  the  whole  of  the  people 
who  had  inhabited  this  garden  of  the  world  were  exterminated, 
and  their  blood  and  race  wiped  from  the  face  of  the  earth."  ^ 

In  1505  negro  slaves  were  introduced  into  Espafiola.  It  was 
a  memorable  occasion ;  the  squalid  beginning  of  a  terrible  end. 
The  event  itself  was  nothing  more  than  the  landing  of  a  company 
of  black  men  and  women  on  the  beach.  They  could  hardly  crawl 
out  of  the  boats,  so  crippled  were  they  from  having  been  cramped 
for  weeks  in  a  putrid  hold.  Their  very  bodies  were  indented  with 
the  marks  of  the  planks.  Huddled  together  like  frightened 
animals,  they  cowered  on  the  sands,  muttering  miserably  as  they 
whisked  the  flies  from  the  sores  left  by  the  last  slash  of  the  whip. 
Some  would  happily  be  dying  ;  all  would  be  famished  for  want  of 
food  ;  all  wide-eyed  with  wonder  and  alarm. 

In  this  poor  fashion  there  rose  upon  the  horizon  of  Espafiola 
a  small  black  cloud,  no  larger  than  a  man's  hand.  It  was  a  cloud 
that  grew  ever  wider,  rounder  and  darker,  a  cloud  in  whose  hollows 

•  Christopher  Columbus,  by  Filson  Young,  vol.  ii.  pages  230  and  233  :  London,  1906. 

R 


242  THE   CRADLE   OF  THE   DEEP. 

was  the  rumble  of  thunder.  It  grew,  until  at  last  it  covered  the 
bright  island  and  buried  it  in  night. 

By  the  time  of  the  French  Revolution  there  were  some  500,000 
black  slaves  in  Haiti.  By  this  period,  as  the  outcome  of  exuberant 
bloodshed,  the  west  part  of  the  island  (that  now  known  as  Haiti) 
had  passed  into  the  hands  of  France,  while  Spain  held  still  the 
eastern  portion — the  present  territory  of  Santo  Domingo.  With 
the  Revolution  slavery  was  abolished,  and  in  1794  the  National 
Assembly  of  France — with  little  knowledge  of  what  they  were 
doing — proclaimed  the  equality  of  all  citizens  in  the  island, 
irrespective  of  colour.  Then  the  great  thunder  cloud  burst,  and 
there  began  a  war  between  the  blacks  and  the  whites  which  for 
ferocity  and  diabolical  viciousness  remains  without  an  equal  in 
the  world's  history. 

The  blacks  had  centuries  of  cruelty  and  oppression  to  wipe 
out,  since  the  day  when  the  first  boat-load  of  negroes  had  landed. 
No  quarter  was  thought  of  on  either  side.  Villages  and  crops 
were  committed  to  the  flames.  Captives  were  burned  alive. 
Wholesale  massacre  was  the  order  of  the  day.  If  the  negroes 
were  guilty  of  hideous  atrocities  on  white  women,  the  French,  on 
their  part,  hunted  fugitives  with  Cuban  bloodhounds  and  spared 
neither  the  aged  nor  the  children. 

The  blacks  were  led  by  the  famous  Toussaint  Breda,  by  him 
who  was  known  as  "  L'ouverture  " — the  way  of  escape.  It  was 
through  him,  as  through  a  bright  portal,  that  the  oppressed  hoped 
to  gain  freedom  and  peace.  He  had  been  first  a  slave,  then 
a  coachman,  and  finally  the  general  of  the  revolutionary  forces. 
A  fearless  as  well  as  a  brilliant  man,  he  was  finally  captured  by 
treachery  and  died  in  a  dungeon  in  France. 

After  him  came  the  demon  Dessalines,  who,  when  he  had 
cleared  the  island  of  the  French,  caused  himself  to  be  crowned  as 
Emperor  of  Haiti  under  the  title  of  Jacques  I,  His  reign,  marked 
as  it  was  by  extraordinary  debaucheries,  was  very  short ;  for  after 
he  had  been  two  years  upon  the  throne  he  was  happily  assassi- 
nated.    This  was  in  1806. 

The  blacks  in  their  war  with  the  French  had,  however,  on  their 


THE    ISLAND   OF   MISRULE.  243 

side  a  more  powerful  ally  than  either  Toussaint  or  Dessalines. 
The  Yellow  Death  fought  on  the  side  of  the  slave,  for  it  is  esti- 
mated that  no  less  than  26,000  of  the  French  army  perished  of  the 
fever. 

To  Dessalines  succeeded  Christophe,  one  of  the  most  ludicrous 
figures  in  modern  history.  He  was  a  mulatto  slave  who  took 
upon  himself  the  title  of  Henri  I,  He  created  a  copious  black 
aristocracy,  whereby  the  waterside  porter  became  a  duke,  and 
the  footman  a  marquis.  He  drew  up  a  code  of  laws,  the  Code 
Henri,  in  imitation  of  the  Code  Napoleon.  His  court  was  as 
gorgeous  as  the  court  in  an  opera  bonffe.  More  than  that,  he  built 
the  palace  of  Sans  Souci,  an  unbelievable  edifice  worthy  of  the 
"  Arabian  Nights."  The  ruins  of  this  fantastic  edifice  still  crown 
certain  gracious  heights  near  Cap  Haytien.  Henri  I.  did  one 
wise  thing :  he  shot  himself  after  a  burlesque  reign  of  some 
thirteen  years. 

The  subsequent  history  of  the  island  is  concerned  largely  with 
disorder  and  violence,  with  revolutions,  pillage  and  bankruptcy, 
with  the  pulling  down  of  one  ruler  or  the  suicide  of  another. 

Espanola  is  now  divided  into  the  Black  Republic  of  Haiti  and 
the  Mulatto  Republic  of  Santo  Domingo,  Of  the  former  Froude 
gives  this  account  in  his  work  on  "The  English  in  the  West  Indies." 
"  They  speak  French  still ;  they  are  nominally  Catholics  still ;  and 
the  tags  and  rags  of  the  gold  lace  of  French  civilisation  continue 
to  cling  about  their  institutions.  But  in  the  heart  of  them  has 
revived  the  old  idolatry  of  the  Gold  Coast,  and  in  the  villages  of 
the  interior,  where  they  are  out  of  sight  and  can  follow  their 
instincts,  they  sacrifice  children  in  the  serpent's  honour  after  the 
manner  of  their  forefathers." 


244       THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP 


XLVni. 

A   CITY   OUT   AT   ELBOWS. 

The  city  of  San  Domingo  lies  on  the  south  side  of  Espanola, 
the  same  being  a  gracious-looking  island,  mountainous  and  green. 
The  city  stands  upon  a  mud-coloured  cliff  at  the  mouth  of  a  small 
river.  The  ship  anchors  at  a  cautious  distance,  and  as  she  rolls 
to  the  great  "  swell  and  scend  of  the  sea "  which  is  met  with  in 
the  bay  it  is  possible  to  take  a  view  of  the  oldest  existing  settle- 
ment in  the  New  World,  of  "the  brave  city  of  San  Domingo," 
which  was  founded  by  Columbus  410  years  ago. 

Every  foot  of  ground  in  and  about  the  capital  has  some 
memorable  interest.  There  on  the  right,  for  instance,  the  river 
comes  forth  to  the  sea  by  way  of  a  ravine  like  that  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Dart  in  Devonshire.  On  the  shore  of  that  stream  Hawkins 
in  1562  bartered  slaves  for  gold  dust  and  spices — a  notable  piece 
of  business,  for  it  was  the  first  traffic  of  the  English  in  West 
Indian  waters.  A  certain  object  on  that  river  bank  caught  the 
eye  of  Francisco  de  Bobadilla,  when  he  came  from  Europe  to 
inquire  into  the  alleged  misconduct  of  Columbus.  The  object 
was  a  gibbet,  from  which  the  bodies  of  several  Spaniards  were 
hanging,  and  was  to  him  a  sign  that  Spain  was  making  progress. 
Away  to  the  west,  where  the  cliff  is  low,  is  the  beach  upon  which 
Drake  landed  his  men  when  he  made  his  famous  assault  on  the 
city. 

It  was  about  "  the  time  of  lauds,"  as  the  Spaniards  would  have 
said,  that  we  anchored  off  the  capital.  The  eastern  sun  fell  full 
upon  the  town,  lighting  up  the  great  wall  of  defence  that  crowns 
the  southern  cliff  and  encloses  the  city  all  the  way  round  by  the 


A   CITY   OUT   AT   ELBOWS.  245 

north.  At  one  spot,  where  there  was  a  gap  in  the  wall,  it  was 
possible  to  look  down  a  straight  street,  to  see  the  long  shadows 
thrown  across  the  road,  and  the  just-awakened  townfolk  moving 
dully  about. 

Within  the  city  wall  is  a  medley  of  buildings  and  huts,  of 
palm  trees  and  banana  fans,  of  house-fronts  that  look  like  squares 
of  white  or  yellow  cardboard,  with  here  and  there  a  black  buttress 
or  a  frayed  parapet.  Above  the  heap  of  roofs  there  rise  into  the 
sun  magnificent  domes  of  brown  masonry,  cupolas,  a  lofty  gable 
in  grey  that  may  belong  to  a  palace,  the  tower  of  a  church,  the 
dense  green  of  trees. 

Those  who  would  land  at  San  Domingo  must  row  ashore  in 
small  boats,  and  make  for  a  quay  some  little  way  up  the  river. 
This  river  entry  to  the  town  is  most  romantic  and  picturesque 
On  the  headland,  at  the  very  mouth,  is  an  ancient  castle  with 
heavy  outworks,  which  would  seem  to  be  built  of  blood-coloured 
stones.  This  is  the  castle  of  Homenaje,  a  fortress  with  which 
Drake  had  dealings.  It  was  probably  built  at  the  same  time  as 
the  city  walls,  viz.  in  1509.  It  is  a  wizened,  rascally-looking,  old 
place,  whose  seaward  defences  are  as  jagged  as  the  cliff  they 
spring  from.  Capping  the  stronghold  is  a  great  square  tower, 
almost  windowless,  but  brave  with  battlements  of  a  very  defiant 
type.  It  has  at  one  angle  a  staircase  tower,  while  below  is  a 
paved  platform  heavily  embrasured — just  such  a  one  as  might 
have  been  visited  by  the  ghost  that  Hamlet  saw.  Creepers  and 
green  bushes  are  scaling  the  outworks  from  the  sea-front,  and 
seem  likely,  in  course  of  years,  to  take  the  aged  donjon  by  gentle 
assault. 

The  river  bank  beyond  the  castle  is  steep  with  cliff  and  wall. 
By  the  water's  edge  is  a  contented  stretch  of  plantains  and  low 
trees.  On  the  summit  of  the  wall  are  ancient  houses.  Some 
have  balconies  that  overhang  the  stream  ;  others  boast  of  turrets, 
fragments  of  terraces,  water-gates  where  grandees  once  lingered, 
but  which  are  now  mere  portals  for  filth. 

The  wall  that  defied  Drake  and  so  many  other  marauders  still 
encircles  the  city.     It  is  not  less  than  eight  feet  thick  in  places,  is 


246  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

of  imposing  height,  and  is  strengthened  by  bastions  at  intervals. 
There  are  still  on  the  western  front  the  gates  through  which  the 
British  entered  when  they  seized  the  city  in  1585.  Ruin  more 
or  less  disastrous  has  befallen  the  wall  along  its  whole  traverse, 
although  its  scars  and  seams  are  hidden  by  trailing  green.  Now 
is  it  put  to  various  base  uses,  being  convenient  to  throw  rubbish 
over,  to  shelter  midden  heaps,  as  well  as  form  a  backing  for  a 
horde  of  parasitic  hovels  and  evil-smelling  sheds. 

The  entrance  to  the  city  is  through  the  River  Gate,  a  noble 
structure  of  stone,  with  classic  pillars  on  either  side  of  it,  well 
daubed  with  the  red  and  green  programmes  of  music  halls. 

The  town  itself  affords  a  spectacle  of  bygone  magnificence 
and  present  squalor.  The  pride  of  San  Domingo,  once  "  the  city 
of  glorious  fame,"  has  fallen  into  sordid  depths.  Its  superb 
buildings  are  left  to  crumble  and  decay.  It  has  no  past  to  revere, 
no  prestige  to  maintain.  It  has  indeed  exchanged  "  old  lamps  for 
new,"  the  carved  stone  city  of  mediaeval  Spain  for  the  stuccoed 
town  of  the  tawdry  builder. 

The  main  streets  of  San  Domingo  smell ;  the  small  streets 
stink.  Rubbish  is  thrown  into  the  road  and  left  there  to  ferment 
and  stew  in  the  sun.  The  chief  thoroughfare  in  the  city  is  a  way 
of  ruts,  pits,  and  trenches,  having  a  bed  not  unlike  that  of  a 
mountain  torrent.  Electric  wires  are  slung  along  it  on  rough, 
unsteady  poles  straight  from  the  backwoods,  while  a  few 
dangling  strands  here  and  there  seem  to  cause  no  uneasiness.  In 
places  on  the  side  paths  are  fragments  of  pavement,  with  intervals 
of  well-trampled  mud,  inlaid  with  castaway  paper  and  banana 
skins.  The  number  of  gambling  rooms  and  of  brazen-faced 
taverns  along  the  way  give  the  High  Street  an  air  of 
unembarrassed  dissipation  which  would  have  pleased  the  early 
buccaneer. 

The  folk  in  the  street  are,  for  the  most  part,  mulattoes,  with 
an  admixture  of  pure  negroes,  and  of  white  men  of  doubtful 
whiteness.  They  are,  on  the  whole,  a  picturesque  people,  not 
always  of  pleasing  countenance,  it  is  true,  but  with  a  certain 
theatrical    air   about  them    which    is   encouraged   by  the.  broad- 


A   CITY    OUT  AT   ELBOWS.  247 

brimmed  sombrero,  by  silk  sashes  worn  as  belts,  by  dark  eyes  and 
wild  black  hair.  The  least  attractive  of  the  men  are  represented 
by  certain  black  soldiers  in  butcher-blue  blouses.  They  slouch 
about  the  streets  with  lethargic  insolence,  and  serve  to  demon- 
strate to  what  depths  even  loafing  may  sink  when .  the  loafer  is 
degenerate. 

There  are  many  old  and  stately  houses  of  stone  in  the  place, 
with  fine  balconies,  heavily  barred  windows,  and  massive  doors. 
Many  more,  however,  are  new  and  braggart  buildings  of 
surpassing  vulgarity.  Here  is  a  gracious  fabric  with  windows  and 
gateways  of  delicately  sculptured  stone.  It  may  have  been  a 
convent  or  a  university.  It  is  now  a  lumber  store,  and  its 
sensitive  carved  work  is  daubed  over  with  barbarian  whitewash. 
An  alley  leads  into  a  paved  courtyard  where  must  have  stalked  in 
old  days  some  arrogant  Castilian  ;  but  it  is  choked  with  rubbish, 
its  many-pillared  arcade  is  in  ruins  and  its  walls  green  with  weeds. 
Balustrades  of  noble  iron-work  are  crumbling  into  rust ;  huge 
doors,  which  might  have  been  battered  upon  by  Drake's  seamen, 
are  falling  off  their  hinges  ;  the  dainty  patio  has  become  a  place 
for  the  drying  of  clothes. 

There  are  some  most  picturesque  churches  still  standing  in 
this  tragic  city.  Conspicuous  among  them  is  the  rare  church  of 
Santa  Barbara  with  its  domed  roof,  its  ancient  windows,  its 
curious  tower  of  a  long-forgotten  fashion,  and  its  sorry  evidences 
of  past  magnificence.  To  the  north  of  the  city  are  the  superb 
ruins  of  the  San  Francisco  monastery,  the  walls  of  which  are 
almost  buried  in  green.  Bushes  and  weeds  fill  the  roofless  aisles, 
but  the  main  gateway,  with  its  lofty  arch  and  columns,  is  as 
perfect  as  it  was  centuries  ago. 

Still,  in  spite  of  it  all,  San  Domingo  remains  one  of  the  most 
fascinating  and  most  inspiring  cities  in  these  waters.  It  is  perhaps 
none  the  worse  for  being  out  at  elbows  or  for  proclaiming  in  its 
streets  the  last  scenes  of  the  "  Rake's  Progress."  To  walk  through 
its  highways  and  its  alleys  is  to  turn  over  the  pages  of  an  old 
missal  illumined  with  faded  gilt  and  precious  colours,  the  incense- 
perfumed    leaves    of  which    are    patched   with    shreds    of  gutter 


248        THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP 

journals  and  interbound  with  gaudy  prints,  ballad  sheets,  and  play 
bills. 

Near  the  River  Gate  is  a  sturdy  ruin  made  up  of  two  square 
towers  joined  by  a  central  block.  The  whole  structure  is  black 
and  roofless.  It  has  ample  windows,  and  retains,  in  spite  of  the 
squalor  which  surrounds  it,  great  dignity  and  assertiveness,  for  it 
was  once  "  a  magnifical  and  prince-lyke  house."  It  is  called  the 
Almirante,  and  is  claimed  to  be  the  castle  which  Columbus  built, 
and  in  which  he  was  confined  when  a  prisoner  and  in  chains. 


XLIX. 

THE   TOMB   OF   COLUMBUS. 

From  near  the  Water  Gate  the  main  street  of  San  Domingo 
slouches  along  to  the  Cathedral  Square.  This  is  an  unkempt 
space  laid  out,  in  a  half-hearted  manner,  as  a  public  garden.  It 
affords  thereby  a  withered  lounging  place  for  languid  and  untidy 
idlers.  Being  graced  by  a  theatrical  statue  of  Columbus  it  takes 
to  itself  the  name  of  the  Parque  Colon. 

On  one  side  of  it  is  the  cathedral,  a  dignified  and  solid 
structure  built  by  the  men  who  planted  the  banner  of  Castile 
upon  the  shores  of  the  New  World.  It  stands  in  this  tawdry, 
meretricious  park  an  august  memorial  of  the  adventurous  spirit  of 
old  Spain.  Its  weather-stained  walls  are  venerable  enough,  for  its 
foundations  were  laid  in  15 14  and  the  last  stone  put  in  place 
twenty-six  years  later.  Its  roof  is  held  up  by  noble  pillars,  while 
so  vast  is  the  fabric  that  in  the  recesses  of  its  many  chapels  there 
hangs  for  ever  the  gloom  of  a  tropic  forest. 

In  the  roof  there  is  said  to  be  embedded  a  cannon-ball  fired 
from  one  of  Drake's  ships.  Drake's  ordnance  is  hugely  flattered 
by  this  legend.  The  ball — if  such  be  there — is  more  probably  one 
that  was  dropped  into  the  square  by  the  English  in  1809,  when 
they  were  attempting  to  wrest  the  city  from  the  pos.session  of  the 
French. 

There  leans  against  the  wall  in  a  side  chapel  a  great,  gaunt 
cross,  nine  feet  high,  made  roughly  of  native  wood.  It  might 
well  have  been  fashioned  by  the  axe  of  a  devout  pioneer,  so 
simple  is  it.  Cut  in  archaic  figures  on  its  front  is  the  date  MDXIV, 
This  is  said  to  be  the  identical  cross  set  up  to  mark  the  site  on 
which  the  cathedral  was  to  be  built.     If  this  be  true,  it  has  stood 


250  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

within  the  shelter  of  these  solemn  walls  for  well-nigh  400  years. 
It  has  witnessed  the  shaking  of  those  walls  by  more  than 
one  deathly  earthquake.  It  has  seen  the  great  doors  battered 
down  by  pirates,  and  the  yelling  horde  pour  into  the  solemn 
gloom  with  clatter  of  arms.  It  has  witnessed  the  scurrying  away 
of  panting  priests,  the  tearing  down  of  images,  the  wolf-like 
scrambling  over  altar-plate.  It  may  well  be  that  some  bare- 
legged ruffian,  with  a  cutlass  in  his  hand  and  a  bloody  cloth 
round  his  skull,  has  been  brought  to  a  stand  before  this  austere 
emblem,  and  in  making  his  obeisance  has  let  drop  at  its  foot  the 
spoil  he  carried. 

On  more  than  one  dark  night,  too,  the  shadow  of  the  cross 
has  been  cast  on  the  wall  by  a  gleam  that  flickered  through  the 
stained-glass  windows — the  red  glare  of  the  burning  city. 

Beneath  an  overpowering  modern  monument  of  white  marble, 
which  reaches  upwards  out  of  sight  and  is  brave  with  lions, 
shields,  and  mediaeval  figures,  is  a  bronze  urn  in  which  are 
deposited  the  remains  of  Christopher  Columbus.  The  inscription 
on  the  casket  runs  thus  : 

"  A  Cristobal  Colon  :  descobridor  de  America." 

It  is  no  profit  to  discuss  here  the  authenticity  of  these  relics. 
The  great  explorer  died  at  Valladolid  in  1506  and  was  buried 
there.  Later  his  body  was  removed  to  the  monastery  of  Las 
Cuevas  at  Seville.  Thence  his  bones — after  a  rest  of  thirty  years 
— started  again  on  a  voyage  to  the  West  Indies,  to  the  Espanola 
of  his  troubles,  and  to  tliis  very  church.  Their  subsequent  jour- 
neyings  matter  little,  nor  is  it  worth  while  to  follow  the  juggling 
and  shuffling  to  which  the  weary  remains  of  Christopher  and  his 
brother  Diego  have  been  subjected  in  recent  times. 

If  he  rests  beneath  this  incense-mellowed  roof,  within  sound 
of  the  sea  and  on  the  shore  of  that  New  World  of  his  whose 
winter  was  "  as  May  in  Cordova,"  then  his  resting-place  is  fitting. 


-  n 


_J 


CATHEDRAL,    SAX     DOMINGO. 
Showixig  the  Tomb  of  Columbus. 


L. 

DRAKE   AT   SAN    DOMINGO. 

Of  all  ventures  to  the  Indies  ever  essayed  by  Drake,  none  was  so 
adventurous  nor  so  dashing  as  the  hazard  of  1585. 

In  the  autumn  of  the  previous  year  the  great  privateersman 
set  sail  from  England  with  a  squadron  of  tvventy-five  ships.  It 
was  the  largest  fleet  that  had  ever  crossed  the  Atlantic.  Drake 
held  no  commission ;  he  launched  forth  upon  the  high  seas 
without  orders  or  authority.  With  him  went  2300  men, 
men  after  his  own  heart,  each  as  eager  as  a  hawk.  None  of 
the  crew  received  any  pay.  They  were  volunteers,  every  man 
of  them,  from  the  captain  to  the  deck  hand.  Mariners  from 
all  parts  had  trudged  to  Plymouth  with  their  bundles  on  their 
backs,  and  had  sought  out  the  shipping  yard  to  enlist  for  the 
venture.  Three  visions  were  ablaze  in  their  brains  as  they  waited 
their  turn  at  the  ship-husband's  door — the  getting  of  loot,  the 
killing  of  Spaniards,  the  joys  of  pirating.  To  not  a  few  there  was 
a  fourth  reason  for  volunteering — the  glory  of  serving  under  the 
ever-victorious  Drake. 

Many  young  bloods  and  courtly  gentlemen,  in  quilted  doublets 
and  silk  hose,  with  ribbon  knots  on  their  shoulders,  joined  the 
expedition.  The  general  of  the  land  forces  was  Christopher 
Carleil.  Drake  sailed  in  the  Elizabeth  Bonadventure.  Francis 
Knolles,  the  Queen's  cousin,  was  in  the  Leicester^  while  the  captain 
of  the  Privirose  was  Martin  Frobisher,  he  of  the  North-west 
Passage,  a  tough  old  sailorman  now  fifty  years  of  age. 

The  fleet  was  away  on  the  voyage  nearly  twelve  months,  for 
they  reached  Portsmouth  safely  in  July  1585,  "  to  the  great  glory 
of  God."     The  voyage  had  been  "rich  and   gainfull."     The  total 


252  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

plunder  taken  amounted  to  60,000/. ;  of  this  amount  40,000/.  went 
to  the  "  adventurers,"  to  the  stay-at-home  folk  who  had  provided 
the  money,  while  the  rest  was  divided  among  the  officers  and 
crew. 

Drake,  having  cleared  the  Channel,  turned  south  and  put  in  at 
Vigo,  to  the  terror  of  the  inhabitants,  and  to  the  dumbfounded 
indignation  of  Spain.  England  and  Spain  were  not  at  war  at  the 
time  ;  Drake  had  no  excuse  for  making  a  hostile  entry  into 
a  Spanish  port ;  yet  he  sailed  his  ships  in  quietly,  anchored  at  his 
leisure,  and  looked  around  to  see  what  damage  he  could  do. 

To  the  Court  of  Spain  this  was  an  act  of  inconceivable 
nsolence.  That  these  wretched  islanders  should  dare  to  insult 
the  sacred  soil  of  Spain  was  a  thing  beyond  believing.  Spain  was 
the  mistress  of  the  sea ;  Spain  owned  half  of  the  known  world  ; 
while  these  uncouth  seamen  hailed  from  paltry  England,  from 
a  state  which  owned  its  very  existence  to  the  forbearance  of 
Philip.  The  impertinence  of  Francis  Drake  staggered  Europe. 
As  well  might  a  street  urchin  have  tugged  with  mudded  hands  at 
the  robe  of  an  archbishop,  as  his  Grace  stalked  by  in  solemn 
procession.  Froude  says  that  the  Council  of  State  sat  for  three 
days  aghast,  staring  at  one  another  as  if  paralysed  by  the 
enormity  of  the  affront. 

Drake,  quite  unconscious  of  the  stir  he  was  making,  "  held  up  " 
all  the  boats  he  found  in  Vigo  Sound.  The  majority  contained 
only  country  produce,  useful  to  the  ship's  purser,  but  of  no  notice- 
able value.  One  craft,  however,  was  come  across  "  laden  with  the 
principal  church  stuff  of  the  High  Church  of  Vigo,  where  also  was 
their  great  cross  of  silver,  of  very  fair  embossed  work  and  double- 
gilt  all  over,  having  cost  them  a  great  mass  of  money."  ^  This 
boat  Drake  took. 

The  town,  of  course,  was  in  a  panic.  The  citizens  were  fleeing 
to  the  country  as  fast  as  their  heels  and  mules  could  take  them. 
The  distracted  governor,  shaking  with  alarm,  sent  as  a  peace 
offering  to  the  English  admiral  a  boat-load  of  wine,  oil,  apples  and 
marmalade.  This  present  Drake  was  graciously  pleased  to  accept, 
'  Account  by  Thomas  Gates.     Hakluyt  Society. 


DRAKE   AT   SAN    DOMINGO.  253 

although  he  probably  pronounced  the  apples  very  inferior  to  those 
of  Devon. 

The  governor  next  ventured  to  beg  a  parley.  The  con- 
descending Englishman  granted  it,  but,  as  he  had  no  confidence  in 
Spanish  officials,  suggested  that  they  should  meet  in  the  centre  of 
the  harbour,  each  in  his  own  skiff.  The  governor — a  small,  fat 
man,  I  expect — was  rowed  off  in  his  best  uniform,  very  white  in 
the  face  no  doubt,  his  lips  dry,  and  his  gloved  hands  clutching  at 
the  gunwale  of  the  wherry.  Drake  appears  to  have  been  brief  but 
very  cheery,  adopting  some  such  tone  as  this — "  So  glad  to  have 
seen  Vigo  harbour !  Nice  day  for  the  water  !  Thanks,  he  had 
got  all  he  wanted.  He  would  not  trouble  his  Excellency  further. 
Good  morning  !  "  More  than  one  eager  watcher,  including  those 
who,  with  bags  of  money  stuffed  up  their  backs,  were  peeping  out 
of  cellar  doors,  must  have  exclaimed  "  Thank  God  !  "  as  the  British 
vanished  from  the  estuary. 

After  various  adventures  Drake  found  himself,  on  the  last  day 
of  the  year,  off  "  the  brave  city  of  San  Domingo,"  "  the  famous 
and  goodly-builded  city."  He  anchored  over  against  the  town, 
somewhere  about  the  spot  where  the  present-day  steamer  finds  a 
berth.  He  would  see  before  him  a  city  built  of  stone,  "  as 
gorgeous  as  Seville  or  Cadiz,"  and  not  very  greatly  altered  from 
the  sea-town  which  meets  the  eye  of  the  traveller  of  to-day.  He 
would  look  upon  the  same  castle  at  the  river's  mouth,  the  same 
great  wall  and  bastions  about  the  precincts,  the  same  cathedral 
dome  and  monastery  towers.  If  Drake  came  to  San  Domingo 
now  he  would  miss  the  public  gallows  on  the  headland,  it  is  true, 
and  would  notice  that  an  iron  lighthouse  and  a  three-storied 
American  brewery  were  new  since  he  last  dropped  anchor  in  the 
roadstead. 

Drake  made  pretence  to  land  a  force  at  the  town.  What  he 
actually  did,  however,  was  to  send  off  1000  men,  about  the  dead 
of  night,  in  boats  with  muffled  oars.  They  were  to  row  ten 
miles  westward  down  the  coast,  land,  and  make  a  forced  march 
back  to  the  city  as  the  day  dawned.  The  next  morning  was  New 
Year's  Day.     The  empty  boats  having  returned  to  the  anchorage, 


254  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

Drake  made  fussy  preparations  to  land  an  imaginary  army,  looking 
at  the  same  time  eagerly  to  the  west  to  seek  for  signs  of  the 
advancing  column  which  was  under  the  command  of  Carleily. 

The  deluded  Spaniards  crowded  to  the  sea-walls.  At  last, 
about  noon,  a  horseman  could  be  seen  galloping  for  the  west  gate 
of  the  town.  He  was  bringing  the  news.  He  was  followed  in 
time  by  a  straggling  company  of  peasants  running  for  the  shelter 
of  the  ramparts.  The  English  were  advancing  beyond  a  doubt. 
The  alarm  spread  in  the  city.  Men  left  the  walls.  A  troop  of 
150  horsemen  were  seen  to  dash  out  of  the  San  Lazaro  gate  to 
meet  the  pirates.  Their  breast-plates  glistened  in  the  sun,  while 
the  jingle  of  their  arms  could  be  heard  from  the  ships'  decks  as 
they  vanished  into  the  jungle.  They  were  a  picked  company,  the 
nobility  of  San  Domingo,  since  every  man  in  the  squadron  was 
a  hidalgo  of  some  degree. 

Soon  the  sound  of  firing  was  to  be  heard  among  the  trees. 
From  the  commotion  it  was  evident  that  the  English  were 
advancing  in  two  columns,  each  making  for  one  of  the  gates. 
The  watchers  next  saw  a  whole  rabble  in  flight,  pressing  for  the 
city,  followed  by  scattered  horsemen,  who  had  been  routed  and 
turned  back.  At  last  across  the  clearing  between  the  jungle  and 
the  wall  came  the  British  storming  party,  rushing  forward  at  the 
double.  As  they  crossed  the  open  the  crews  of  the  ships  raised 
a  yell  which  must  have  sounded  in  the  city  like  the  baying  of  a 
pack  of  hounds. 

Cannon  shots  were  fired  from  the  curtain  and  the  bastions. 
The  hidalgos  tried  to  re-form  at  the  gates,  but  only  for  a  moment. 
They  could  face  small  shot,  but  they  could  not  face  the  bristling 
line  of  pikes  gripped  by  these  savage,  panting  men,  who  came  on 
like  a  breaking  sea.  The  two  gates  were  rushed,  and  the  town 
became  suddenly  full  of  noise,  of  sounds  of  men  shouting,  of  guns 
firing,  of  alarm  bells  hurriedly  tolled. 

Those  on  the  ships  would  have  a  view  perhaps  down  a  sunlit 
street,  wherein  they  could  see  frantic  women  at  the  upper  windows 
and  the  men  below  barricading  doors.  There  would  be  a  nervous 
crowd  at  the  cross-way,  all  looking  westwards,  their  hands  on  one 


DRAKE   AT   SAN   DOMINGO.  255 

another's  shoulders.  Suddenly  something  would  come  into  their 
view,  so  that  they  scattered  precipitately  with  a  yell,  "  The  pirates 
are  coming ! "  The  women  slammed  to  the  shutters,  and  the 
place  was  still.  In  another  moment,  across  the  deserted  street 
end,  a  company  of  English  pikemen  tore  by,  like  a  tornado,  and 
after  they  had  passed  heads  came  again  out  of  windows  and 
scared  folk  out  of  dark  entries. 

Drake,  standing  on  the  poop  of  the  Bonadventure,  must  have 
felt  for  a  time  that  the  issue  was  uncertain.  The  English  were 
making  for  the  cathedral  close — "  a  very  fair,  spacious  square,"  as 
they  afterwards  spoke  of  it.  It  is  the  place  now  occupied  by  the 
unornamental  garden. 

The  firing  was  ceasing  ;  the  town  was  becoming  quiet.  What 
had  happened  ?  Had  Carleil's  men  fallen  into  a  trap  ?  To  those 
who  hung  over  the  bulwarks  of  the  ships,  or  who  had  climbed  the 
rigging  for  a  better  view,  the  suspense  became  beyond  endurance. 
Fists  were  clenched ;  men  muttered  in  whispers ;  Drake  stalked 
to  and  fro  as  restless  as  a  caged  lion.  On  a  moment,  from  the 
flagstaff  of  a  tower,  there  broke  into  the  blue  above  the  city  the 
banner  of  St  George  of  England.     The  lads  of  Devon  had  won ! 

The  attacking  party  were  a  little  too  small  to  make  themselves 
at  once  masters  of  the  entire  city.  So  they  entrenched  themselves 
in  the  square,  erected  barricades,  and  arranged  for  a  bivouac.  It 
may  be  supposed  that  they  looted  provisions  from  the  houses 
around,  for  Drake  reports  that  they  "  found  good  store  for  their 
relief"  in  the  city.  A  fire  would  be  made  in  the  square  out  of 
window  shutters  and  other  handy  fuel,  while  with  a  few  chairs 
and  tables  removed  from  convenient  parlours  near  by  the  pirates 
would  be  able  to  enjoy  a  welcome  meal. 

When  night  fell  the  camp  fire  would  light  up  a  hundred  beam- 
ing faces  and  would  throw  strange  shadows  across  the  illumined 
fagade  of  the  cathedral.  Any  bold  citizen  who  peeped  into  the 
square,  about  the  hour  of  compline,  might  have  thought  that  this 
flame-coloured  horde  had  come  straight  from  the  Bottomless  Pit. 

The  invaders,  however,  were  not  in  a  mood  for  sleep.  Indeed 
about  midnight  "  they  made  themselves  busy  about  the  gates  of 


256  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

the  castle,"  that  very  castle  that  stands  at  the  river's  mouth.  As 
a  result  of  their  battering  on  the  gate,  the  garrison  of  the  fortress, 
who  had  no  stomach  for  night  alarms,  fled  across  the  stream,  and, 
leaving  their  boats,  ran  inland  until  they  were  safely  hid  by  the 
forest. 

Drake  held  the  town  for  four  weeks,  looting  it  with  great 
method  and  precision.  The  negotiations  for  a  ransom  were  rather 
tedious,  so  Drake  expressed  his  intention  of  destroying  the  city 
piecemeal  unless  the  money  was  paid.  "  We  spent  the  early 
morning,"  says  Thomas  Gates,  the  writer  of  the  chronicle,  "  in 
firing  the  outmost  houses  ;  but  they  being  built  very  magnificently 
of  stone  with  high  lofts  gave  us  no  small  travail  to  ruin  them." 
Two  hundred  men  were  engaged  upon  this  excellent  work.  They 
commenced  their  labours  punctually  at  daybreak  and  worked  with 
business-like  patience  until  9  A.M.,  when  owing  to  the  heat  they 
desisted.  Thomas  Gates,  who  evidently  took  this  particular  task 
very  much  to  heart,  owns  with  regret  that,  in  spite  of  earnest 
efforts,  they  were  not  able  to  destroy  more  than  one-third  of  the 
town  up  to  date. 

The  Spaniards,  perceiving  that  the  disappearance  of  their 
beloved  city  was  merely  a  question  of  time,  proposed  to  buy  the 
housebreakers  out  for  the  sum  of  25,000  ducats.^  These  early 
morning  fires,  accompanied  as  they  were  by  the  noise  of  falling 
roofs  and  walls,  had  become  so  real  a  nuisance  to  the  quiet-loving 
citizens  that  they  were  prepared  to  act  on  the  principle  of  paying 
a  noisome  organ-grinder  to  cease  grinding.  Drake,  after  some 
sneering  comment  upon  the  paltriness  of  the  sum,  agreed  to 
accept  it,  and,  taking  with  him  the  eighty  cannon  the  town 
possessed,  together  with  other  mementoes,  sailed  away  to  the 
south,  solaced  by  the  sense  of  his  generous  action. 

'  A  sum  equal  probably  to  6875/. 


LI. 

THE    BUCCANEERS. 

ESPANOLA  will  ever  be  famous  as  the  cradle  of  the  great  race  of 
the  Buccaneers.  They  came  into  being  under  noticeable  cir- 
cumstances. Spain's  first  act  after  the  discovery  and  conquest  of 
the  New  World  was  to  proclaim  her  exclusive  right  to  all  those 
territories  of  which  she  had  any  knowledge  or  even  any  suspicion. 
The  Pope,  "  to  whose  hands  the  heathen  were  entrusted  by  God,  to 
be  handed  for  an  inheritance  to  the  highest  and  most  religious 
bidder,"  ^  granted  to  Spain,  in  1493,  the  possession  of  all  lands 
lying  to  the  west  of  a  meridian  drawn  100  leagues  westward 
of  the  Azores,  and  to  Portugal  all  lands  lying  to  the  east  of 
that  line,  the  said  line  to  extend  to  the  Arctic  and  Antarctic 
poles  respectively.  At  a  later  date  the  Brazils  were  generously 
left  to  the  latter  State. 

Spain  had,  by  the  time  now  dealt  with,  established  her  rule 
over  the  West  Indies,  as  well  as  over  Central  and  South  America, 
had  subdued  the  mighty  empires  of  Mexico  and  Peru,  and  had 
made  settlements  along  the  coasts  from  California  to  Chili,  and 
from  Florida  to  the  River  Plate. 

From  this  not-inconsiderable  section  of  the  globe  all  foreigners 
were  excluded.  Every  stranger  who  found  his  way  into  the 
Caribbean  Sea  was,  in  the  eyes  of  Spain,  a  pirate,  and  was 
treated  as  such.  Any  settler  was  as  unwelcome  and  as 
malignant. 

Now,  coincident  with  this,  reports  reached  Europe  that  these 
excluded  lands  were  very  rich  and  very  wonderful.  In  England, 
at  the  same  time,  there  had  developed  a  hatred  of  Spain— based 

'  Christopher  Columbus,  by  Filson  Young,  vol.  i,  page  257  :  London,  1906. 

S 


258  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE    DEEP. 

mainly  upon  points  of  religion — which  was  little  short  of  a 
monomania.  The  Inquisition  fanned  that  hatred  from  a  glowing 
ember  into  a  devouring  flame.  English  sailors  had  been  captured, 
had  been  put  into  dungeons  as  heretics,  had  been  starved  and 
tortured,  set  to  work  in  the  galleys,  or  burned  to  death  in  a  fool's 
cap  before  a  jeering  market-place  crowd.  Privateering  became 
the  occupation  of  honourable,  God-fearing  gentlemen.  To  rob, 
fire,  or  scuttle  a  Catholic  ship  was  a  commendable  work  of  grace. 

In  1588  came  the  defeat  of  the  Great  Armada  and  the 
breaking  up  of  the  sea  power  of  the  arrogant  mistress  of  the 
world.  In  defiance  of  the  ban  of  Spain,  a  strange  company  began 
to  collect  at  the  westernmost  corner  of  Espanola,  They  came 
across  the  seas  in  obedience  to  no  call ;  in  ones  and  twos  they 
came,  Frenchmen,  British,  and,  Dutch,  and,  led  by  some  herding 
instinct,  they  foregathered  at  this  wild  trysting  place.  Some  were 
mere  dare-devil  adventurers,  others  were  wily  seekers  after  fortune  ; 
the  few  were  in  flight  from  the  grip  of  justice,  the  many  had 
roamed  away  from  the  old  sober  world  in  search  of  freedom. 

There  was  a  common  tie  that  banded  them  together,  the  call 
of  the  wild  and  the  hate  of  Spain.  They  formed  no  colony  nor 
settlement,  but  simply  joined  themselves  together  in  a  kind  of 
jungle  brotherhood.  They  found  a  leader  as  a  pack  of  wolves 
find  theirs,  not  by  choosing  one  to  lead  but  by  following  the 
one  who  led.  Some  of  the  party  undertook  a  little  haphazard 
planting,  some  became  dilettante  fishermen.  The  greater  number, 
however,  hunted  the  cattle  with  which  the  island  was  overrun. 
The  ancestors  of  these  herds  had  come  from  Spain,  had  escaped 
to  the  bush,  where  they  had  multiplied  and  grown  free.  The 
hunters,  or  cowboys,  traded  with  the  hides  they  obtained,  while 
they  preserved  the  meat  by  smoking  it  upon  a  buccan,  a  wooden 
rack  or  frame  which  they  found  in  use  by  the  Caribs.  This 
buccaned  meat  became  an  article  of  commerce,  and  the  traders 
called  themselves  buccaneers,  or  smoked-meat  men. 

In  time,  as  they  grew  in  numbers,  they  took  to  pirating. 
They  manned  the  long  canoes  of  the  natives,  and  attacked  the 
ship  that  passed  in  the   night,  as  well   as   the   galleon  that   lay 


THE   BUCCANEERS.  259 

becalmed  in  the  sleepy  sun.  In  this  wise  they  got  vessels  of  their 
own,  arms  and  men,  as  well  as  the  wherewithal  to  become 
dissipated  and  rich. 

Out  of  such  perfervid  beginnings  there  arose  in  the  Caribbean 
seas  a  curious  and  heterogeneous  association  of  filibusters,  who 
through  the  whole  of  the  seventeenth  century  wielded  a  terrifying 
power  among  the  West  Indian  islands,  and  along  the  Spanish 
Main.  During  many  years  of  that  century  they  proved  to  be  men 
of  amazing  enterprise,  and  of  chivalrous  valour  who  were  not 
actuated  wholly  by  sordid  motives,  nor  the  mere  seeking  after 
loot.  To  carve  their  way  to  greatness  through  a  tangle  of 
violence  and  robbery,  to  maintain  with  never-relaxing  tenacity 
the  vendetta  against  Spain,  involved  a  set  purpose  as  well  as  a 
buoyant  spirit.  It  involved,  moreover,  acts  of  treachery  and 
deeds  of  revenge,  cruelty  enough  to  poison  the  good  green  earth, 
malice  enough  to  blot  out  the  ever-smiling  sun. 

Yet  at  the  same  time  these  buccaneers  became  famous  as  some 
of  the  world's  greatest  navigators.  They  developed  the  art  of 
seamanship  ;  they  discovered  lands  ;  they  added  to  the  science  of 
natural  history  ;  they  attacked  and  captured  great  cities  and — 
most  curious  of  all — did  much  to  establish  the  staid  authority  of 
England  in  these  lawless  waters.^ 

That  in  the  end  they  degenerated  into  mere  rogues  and  cut- 
throats may  well  be  supposed.  Some,  it  is  true,  became  honest 
seamen  and  colonists,  while  others  settled  down  among  their 
friends  the  Darien  Indians.  The  very  last  of  the  race  slunk  about 
ill-favoured  harbours  that  lay  beyond  the  track  of  ships.  They 
had  scarcely  nerve  enough  left  to  rob  the  market  boats  as  they 
drifted  blithely  from  the  plantation  to  the  little  port.  They  could 
still  bluster  and  brag  and  curse.  They  might  mock  at  the  gallows 
when  they  were  flushed  with  rum,  yet  would  fain  rub  the  mark  of 
Cain  off  their  brows  when  they  were  hiding  in  the  mangrove 
swamp.^ 

'  Dampier,  the  great  navigator,  was  a  buccaneer  as  well  as  a  copious   writer  on 
natural  history.     Henry  Morgan,  the  pirate,  became  deputy  governor  of  Jamaica, 
*  The  buccaneers,  as  a  band,  were  broken  up  after  the  Treaty  of  Kyswick  in  1697. 

s  2 


26o  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

During  the  period  of  their  greatest  prosperity  the  Buccaneers 
made  their  headquarters  at  Tortuga  Island,  which  lies  just  off  the 
north-west  point  of  Espanola.  The  retreat  was  protected  on  the 
north  by  inaccessible  precipices  and  on  the  south  by  shoals  and 
reefs.  On  the  sheltered  side  of  Tortuga  was  a  deep-water  bay 
within  a  circle  of  red  cliff.  At  the  foot  of  the  height  lay  white 
sands,  while  on  the  summit  was  the  tousled  jungle.  This  was  the 
freebooter's  home,  his  pleasure  house,  his  haven  of  peace.  Here 
on  the  beach  he  careened  his  ships,  landed  his  gold,  his  altar  plate 
and  his  spices,  filled  his  water-casks,  and  mended  his  gear.  Here 
too,  with  infinite  wrangling  and  blasphemy,  he  divided  the  tub-full 
of  pieces  of  eight. 

The  beach  would  seem  too  white,  too  virginal,  for  such  a  scene, 
the  sea  too  delicately  blue.  Yet  here  on  the  sand  they  squatted 
in  an  unholy  semicircle,  the  captain  and  his  crew,  some  sitting  on 
chests  or  brandy  kegs  or  leaning  across  barrels,  snapping  and 
growling  over  the  money,  like  wolves  over  a  carcass. 

The  captain  is  enthroned  on  a  stout  sea  chest.  He  is  an 
execrable-looking  villain,  with  a  bedraggled  moustache  and  dirt- 
matted  hair.  His  face  is  so  weather-hardened  and  so  tanned  that 
his  features  may  have  been  carved  out  of  teak.  One  of  his  eyes 
has  been  gouged  from  its  socket,  while  the  lid  of  the  other  is  made 
to  droop  by  reason  of  a  sabre  cut  which  has  left  a  pink  streak 
across  his  temple.  He  is  dressed  in  a  green  satin  coat  with 
voluminous  skirts  ;  it  is  buttonless  yet  shows  shreds  of  lace,  while 
the  cuffs  have  been  slit  up  to  allow  his  hairy  arms  to  burst 
through.  He  wears  pantaloons  of  bullock-blood  red,  canary- 
coloured  stockings  and  heavy  shoes.  A  couple  of  pistols  stick  out 
of  the  scarlet  sash  around  his  waist.  He  has  gold  rings  in  his 
ears  and  a  wide-brimmed  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head.  He  is  just 
now  "  high  in  oath  "  and  is  directing  the  division  of  the  silver  with 
the  point  of  a  cutlass,  deciding  any  finer  detail  by  a  throw  of  the 
dice. 

His  crew  are  an  unsavoury  gang  of  wide-shouldered,  iron- 
limbed  men.  They  affect  bright-tinted  shirts,  voluminous  breeches 
and  bare  legs.     Some  have  their  hair  gathered  up  into  greasy  nets, 


THE   BUCCANEERS.  261 

others  wear  a  pic^tail  tied  around  with  a  strip  of  bunting.  The 
most  popular  head  covering  is  a  palm-leaf  hat  or  a  gaudy  hand- 
kerchief wrapped  about  the  forehead,  turban-wise.  One  man  is 
nursing  the  stump  of  an  arm  which  is  bound  up  in  bloody  linen 
secured  by  spun  yarn.  Between  them  they  show  wounds  enough 
to  keep  a  surgeon  busy.  They  are  much  tattooed  ;  the  favourite 
designs  that  grace  their  skins  being  a  cross,  a  naked  woman  and  a 
devil  with  a  forked  tail.  On  one  man's  shaggy  chest  hangs  a 
crucifix,  while  round  the  bull-neck  of  another  is  a  lady's  string  of 
pearls.  They  are  armed  with  pistols  and  hangers  as  well  as  with 
long  knives  in  shark-skin  sheaths. 

Such  were  the  Buccaneers,  and  it  is  small  wonder  that  they 
struck  terror  wherever  they  came.  Their  early  exploits  are  well 
illustrated  by  an  account  of  a  fora}'  conducted  by  the  then  leader, 
Pierre  le  Grand,  a  native  of  Dieppe. 

The  sea  rovers  were  at  the  time  in  low  water,  being  indeed 
short  of  food,  short  of  ships,  short  of  everything.  They  contrived, 
however,  to  man  a  large  native  canoa  with  a  crew  of  twenty-eight 
meat-curers.  Leaving  Tortuga  they  crept  along  the  coast  of 
Espafiola  as  far  as  Cape  Tiburon,  but  met  with  no  fortune  on  the 
way.  Off  the  cape  these  weary  men  with  empty  stomachs  were 
refreshed  by  a  glorious  sight.  A  huge  Spanish  galleon,  flying  the 
flag  of  the  vice-admiral  of  the  fleet,  was  making  for  the  Wind- 
ward Passage  close  hauled. 

The  wind  was  light,  the  sun  dazzling,  and  the  sea  almost 
without  a  ripple.  The  crew  of  the  man-of-war  were  lying  down 
in  the  shadow  of  the  bulwarks  or  in  the  lee  of  the  deck-house. 
The  watch  had  nothing  to  do  but  idle  away  the  afternoon.  No 
one  would  dare  attack  an  admiral's  galleon.  So  the  canoa 
with  the  twenty-eight  hungry  meat-curers  passed  by  unnoticed. 
With  superb  audacity  the  buccaneers  paddled  under  the  towering 
stern,  jammed  the  rudder  and  clambered  up  on  to  the  deck  by 
means  of  the  channel  boards. 

The  quartermaster  at  the  helm,  who  was  nodding  over  the 
tiller  dreaming  of  Castile,  was  knocked  senseless  by  a  blow  on 
the  skull.     The  first  dazed  man  of  the  watch  who  stumbled  to  his 


262  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

feet  had  a  long  knife  driven  through  his  chest.  Pierre  and  his 
crew  then  rushed  into  the  state  cabin,  knocking  over  the  sentinel 
as  they  stumbled  down  the  stair.  The  captain  and  his  officers 
were  sitting  round  a  table  in  their  shirt  sleeves  playing  cards. 
Through  the  door  burst  the  savage  rabble  of  half-naked,  unkempt 
men.  "  Jesus  bless  us ! "  yelled  the  captain,  throwing  down  his 
cards  ;  "  are  these  devils  or  what  are  they  ?  " 

In  a  while,  after  much  hubbub  of  pistol  shot  and  cutlass  hacks, 
mingled  with  the  crashing  of  furniture  and  the  cursing  of  men, 
the  cabin  became  as  quiet  as  before.  Pierre  landed  all  the 
Spaniards  he  did  not  want,  dined  sumptuously  in  the  card-strewn 
cabin  and  sailed  his  prize  home  to  France,  where  he  sold  her  to 
his  great  profit  and  contentment.^ 

*  The  Buccaneers  of  America,  by  John  Esquemeling :  London,  1893.  History  of 
the  Buccaneers  of  America,  by  Captain  James  Burney,  R.N.  :  London,  1891.  On  the 
Spanish  Main,  by  John  Masefield  :  London,  1906.     Dampier's  Voyages, 


LII. 

"OUR   WELL   BELOVED." 

ESPANOLA  is  associated  with  a  critical  period  in  the  life  of  that 
picturesque  pirate,  Captain  Kidd.  William  Kidd  was  a  native  of 
Greenock,  and  a  reputable  seaman  who  traded  industriously  along 
the  American  coast.  He  was  so  much  respected  by  those  who 
knew  him  that  in  1695  he  was  entrusted  with  a  commission  to 
suppress  piracy.  The  commission  emanated  from  "  William  the 
Third,  by  the  grace  of  God  King  of  England,  Scotland,  France 
and  Ireland,  Defender  of  the  Faith,"  and  was  addressed  to  "  our 
trusty  and  well  beloved  Captain  William  Kidd,  of  the  ship 
Adventure,  gaily." 

The  well-beloved  William  was  instructed  to  deal  summarily 
with  "  divers  wicked  and  ill-disposed  persons  who  were  com- 
mitting many  and  great  pyraces  to  the  great  danger  and  hurt 
of  our  loving  subjects."  ^  William  was  indeed  to  purge  the  seas, 
to  stamp  out  wickedness,  and  to  proclaim  on  the  ocean  highways 
the  majesty  of  the  law. 

The  Adventure  sailed  from  Plymouth  on  her  most  righteous 
mission  in  May  1696,  with  a  crew  of  155  men  all  intent  upon  a 
search  for  the  "wicked  and  ill-disposed  persons"  above  named. 
None  of  these  depraved  people,  however,  appear  to  have  come  in 
the  way  of  the  trusty  captain.  He  reported  no  arrests,  he  brought 
in  no  prizes,  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  nothing  was  heard  of  him 
after  he  had  passed  from  beyond  the  English  Channel.  The 
Adventure^  indeed,  might  have  sailed  away  into  the  clouds. 

News  did  come  at  last,  and  the  purport  of  the  same  was 
discouraging.     It  was  rumoured  that  this  guardian  of  the  law,  this 

'   The  History  of  the  Pyrates,  by  Captain  C.  Johnson,  vol.  ii.  :  London,  1726. 


i64  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

protector  of  "  our  loving  subjects,"  was  himself  actually  doing  an 
excellent  business  as  a  pirate.  Among  other  exploits  he  had 
taken  a  rich  French  merchantman  named  the  Queda.  Now  it  so 
happened  that  the  missionary  ship  Adventure  at  this  juncture  was 
pronounced  unseaworthy,  so  Master  Kidd  very  heartlessly  sunk 
her,  after  he  had  removed  his  guns,  his  stores,  and  his  more 
treasured  cabin  furniture  to  the  Queda. 

He  sailed  his  vessel  to  Espanola  and  there  heard — probably  at 
San  Domingo — that  he  was  "  wanted,"  and  indeed  that  there  was 
a  warrant  out  against  him  for  divers  acts  of  piracy.  This  so  hurt 
the  finer  feelings  of  Kidd,  the  well  beloved  of  kings,  that  he 
bought  a  sloop  at  Espanola  and  hurried  over  to  Boston  to  explain 
the  true  facts  to  the  authorities,  and  to  vindicate  his  honour. 
Kidd,  it  may  be  mentioned,  had  never  shown  himself  to  be 
lacking  in  audacity. 

His  explanation  was  to  the  effect  that  his  crew  had  proved  to 
be  utterly  abandoned,  and  had,  indeed,  so  far  forgotten  themselves 
that  they  had  threatened  to  shoot  him  and  had  actually  locked 
him  up  in  his  cabin.  While  he  was  thus  rudely  confined,  and 
trying  to  console  himself  no  doubt  by  reading  once  more  the 
charming  communication  made  to  him  by  William  the  Third,  the 
Defender  of  the  Faith,  these  profligate  men  had  committed  acts  of 
piracy  to  his  infinite  pain  and  distress.  He  had  felt  it  his  duty  to 
hurry  to  Boston  to  tell  the  kind  governor  how  very  base  his  men 
had  been,  and  to  seek  his  sympathy  and  support. 

Asked  what  had  become  of  the  Queda.,  and  her  cargo  of  goods 
valued  at  70,000/.,  the  ill-used  William  deeply  regretted  that  he 
was  unable  to  inform  his  Excellency  on  that  point.  Asked  as  to 
the  welfare  of  a  certain  gunner  on  the  Adventure  named  Moore, 
Master  Kidd  reported,  with  some  emotion,  that  that  mariner  was 
no  longer  with  them  ;  in  fact,  the  bereaved  captain  could  do 
no  more  than  say,  in  the  words  of  Scripture,  that  Moore  "  was 
not,  for  the  Lord  took  him."  Asked  whether  he  had  smashed 
Moore's  skull  in  by  hitting  him  over  the  head  with  a  bucket, 
the  suppressor  of  pirates  owned  that  he  had  adopted  that  method 
of  rebuking  Moore.  Moore,  he  explained,  was  unfortunate  in  his 
manner,  was  disrespectful  and  indeed  mutinous.     Furthermore  he 


"OUR    WELL   BELOVED."  265 

was  constrained  to  add,  without  wishing  to  speak  ill  of  the  dead, 
that  the  late  gunner  had  shown  an  odious  leaning  towards  piracy. 

As  a  result  of  this  informing  conversation  in  the  Governor's 
office  at  Boston  "  our  trusty  and  well  beloved  Captain  William 
Kidd  "  found  himself,  with  some  of  his  crew,  in  the  dock  of  the 
Old  Bailey  in  the  month  of  May  1701.  So  faithless  was  William 
the  Third  to  his  trusty  servant  that  Kidd  actually  came  to  be 
charged  in  the  King's  name  with  being  a  pirate  and  with  being 
the  murderer  of  Gunner  Moore.  Such  are  the  uncertainties  of 
the  law  that  on  both  these  indictments  the  ex-captain  was  found 
guilty. 

Nine  of  the  crew  of  the  Adventure  were  tried  with  their  mis- 
understood master.  Three  of  these  were  dismissed  and  among 
them  was  Richard  Barlicorne,  the  apprentice,  who  probably  had 
blood-congealing  tales  to  tell  when  he  reached  the  shelter  of  the 
alehouse  in  his  native  village. 

Kidd  and  his  six  companions  were  hanged  at  Execution  Dock 
on  May  23.  They  were  afterwards  "hung  up  in  chains,  at  some 
distance  from  each  other,  down  the  River,  where  their  bodies  hung 
exposed  for  many  years."  There  is  little  doubt  but  that  for  long 
sailor  men,  beating  up  and  down  the  Thames  in  their  hoys  and 
billyboys,  would  look  out  for  a  wind-blown  gibbet  on  the  dreariest 
mud  flat,  and  would  say  as  they  passed  "  There  swings  Captain 
Kidd." 

All  that  was  left  of  him  in  time  was  a  tangle  of  white  bones  in 
a  rusty  cage,  with  shoes  still  rattling  on  the  feet,  with  shreds 
hanging  from  the  limbs  which  might  be  rags  of  clothing  or  strips 
of  skin,  and  with  teeth  which  chattered  when  the  jawbone  was 
shaken  in  the  breeze.  There  they  swung  for  dismal  months, 
Kidd  and  his  crew  of  six,  watching  the  tide  swirl  up  and  down 
the  stream,  watching  the  home-coming  craft  and  the  outward 
bound.  Perhaps  Richard  ]5arlicorne,  when  his  nerves  were  a  little 
restored,  may  have  had  the  curiosity  to  visit  the  Thames  to  have 
a  look  at  the  captain  with  whom  he  had  served  his  strange 
apprenticeship.  He  may  well  have  wondered  where  his  own 
place  would  have  been  in  the  jangling  line  if  the  evidence  had 
been  a  little  more  convincing. 


266  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

The  estate  of  Captain  William  Kidd,  deceased,  realised  the  sum 
of  6742/,  IS.,  which  money  was  handed  over  to  Greenwich 
Hospital.  That  admirable  institution  may  therefore  count  a  dead 
buccaneer  among  its  subscribers,  and  acknowledge  that  it  owes 
some  benefits  to  acts  of  piracy  on  the  high  seas. 

The  Queda,  merchantman,  was  never  found.  It  is  supposed 
that  the  treasure  she  contained  was  buried  on  an  island,  and  that  the 
deserted  ship,  with  many  auger  holes  in  her  bilge,  hid  her  shame 
— as  did  the  Adventure — in  the  depths  of  the  blameless  sea. 
Common  rumour  said  that  it  was  on  Gardiner's  Island  that  most 
of  the  loot  was  hidden.  Whether  that  be  true  or  not  it  is  certain 
that  the  property  never  came  again  into  the  possession  of  its 
rightful  owners.  Very  probably  some  of  Kidd's  old  companions, 
by  the  aid  of  mystic  and  much-thumbed  charts,  went  back  to  the 
cave  where,  with  many  a  glance  seaward,  they  dug  furtively  for 
the  pieces  of  gold  and  the  bags  of  precious  stones. 

Readers  of  fiction  will  remember  that,  according  to  Edgar 
Allan  Poe,  a  Mr.  William  Le  Grand  discovered  this  identical 
booty  by  means  of  a  gold  bug,  a  human  skull  in  a  tree,  and  a 
miraculously  preserved  parchment  on  which  was  drawn  the  figure 
of  a  kid.  This  particular  treasure  was  found  in  the  regulation 
chest  of  the  pirate  story,  to  wit,  in  a  much  knobbed  trunk  provided 
with  six  iron  rings.  The  wealth  contained  therein  was,  in  the 
matter  of  profusion  and  brilliancy,  scarcely  eclipsed  by  the  villain's 
horde  on  the  pantomime  stage.  The  catalogue  comprised  much 
gold,  together  with  no  diamonds,  "some  of  them  exceedingly 
large  and  fine,"  83  crucifixes  and  no  less  than  "  197  superb  gold 
watches,  all  richly  jewelled  and  in  cases  of  great  worth." 

The  gold  watches  are  quite  en  regie.  All  popular  coloured 
prints  depicting  "  The  Mariner's  Return  "  show  a  smirking  lady  in 
a  short  frock  greeting  a  bearded  seaman,  who,  besides  the  orthodox 
bundle  on  a  stick,  carries  a  parrot  and  a  number  of  gold  watches 
with  chains.  The  strange  fowl  serves  to  indicate  an  acquaintance 
with  foreign  parts,  the  time-pieces  the  invariable  reward  of  the 
faithful  and  conscientious  follower  of  the  sea. 


LIII. 

ON   THE   WAY   TO  JAMAICA. 

The  next  authorised  stopping  place  in  tlie  way  of  our  steamer 
was  Kingston,  Jamaica  ;  but  owing  to  the  earthquake  it  had  been 
decreed  that  we  could  not  put  in  there,  but  must  go  rather  to  Port 
Antonio  on  the  north  of  the  island. 

The  first  intimation  of  the  calamity  which  had  befallen  Kingston 
reached  me  at  Trinidad.  The  news  came  in  this  wise.  The  ship 
had  hardly  dropped  her  anchor  off  Port  of  Spain  before  we  were 
boarded  by  the  usual  miscellaneous  folk  who  emerge  from  the 
waters  of  every  tropical  haven.  Among  them  was  a  heated  man, 
in  a  white  linen  jacket,  who  was  tense  to  bursting  from  something 
within  him.  He  asked  me  hurriedly,  and  in  the  manner  of  an 
irritable  policeman,  "  Where  I  was  going  ?  "  I  said  "  To  Kingston, 
Jamaica."  He  replied  authoritatively  "  You  cannot  go  there,"  as 
if  Kingston  were  a  place  from  which  trespassers  were  excluded. 
I  asked  "  Why  ?  "  He  said  "  Because  Kingston  does  not  exist ; 
there  is  no  such  place."  I  was  about  to  inquire  who  had  thus 
rudely  tampered  with  the  map  of  the  globe,  when  he  remarked, 
with  a  gush  of  pent-up  breath,  "  It  has  been  wiped  out  by  an 
earthquake !  Clean  gone !  Not  a  brick  left !  "  Before  I  could 
explain  that  I  was  not  going  to  Kingston  in  search  of  bricks  he 
had  vanished  explosively. 

On  the  journey  from  San  Domingo  to  Port  Antonio  the 
steamer  crosses  the  ocean  highway  on  whose  broad  bosom  was 
enacted  the  opening  scene  of  the  "  War  of  Jenkins'  Ear."  The 
parties  to  this  bitter  conflict  were  the  two  great  European  Powers, 
England  and  Spain.  The  war  was  the  outcome  of  long-existing 
differences,  of  petty  insults  and  of  irritating  reprisals.     Relations 


268  THE    CRADLE    OF   THE    DEEP. 

between  the  two  peoples  were  clouded  and  threatening,  yet  the 
thunderbolt  had  not  fallen.  It  was  Jenkins'  ear  that  brought  the 
whole  seething,  smouldering  business  to  a  climax.  It  was  Jenkins' 
auricle  that  caused  the  storm  to  burst.  The  British  had  been 
heroically  patient,  but  when  they  contemplated  this  fragment  of 
the  anatomy  of  Jenkins  their  restraint  gave  way.  It  was  no 
longer  possible  to  hold  back  the  dogs  of  war. 

Robert  Jenkins  was  the  master  of  the  brig  Rebecca,  and  was 
engaged  in  trading  between  the  West  Indies  and  London.  In 
April  1731,  the  unsuspecting  Rebecca  was  returning  home  to 
London  from  Jamaica  by  this  very  passage.  Robert  Jenkins  had 
a  full  cargo  ;  he  was  at  peace  with  all  men,  and  was  looking 
forward  to  the  enjoyment  of  "  the  blessings  of  the  land  with  the 
fruits  of  his  labours."  He  may  be  assumed  to  have  been  sailing 
along,  humming  to  himself  the  then  equivalent  of  "  Home,  Sweet 
Home,"  when  he  was  brutally  attacked  by  a  Spanish  Guarda- 
costa,  who  boarded  him  in  a  most  offensive  and  truculent  manner. 
The  gentle  Jenkins  could  offer  no  resistance  ;  so  the  Spaniard 
promptly  looted  the  brig  and  robbed  the  master  of  his  little  all. 

Before  the  miscreants  left  the  naked  and  bewildered  Rebecca 
to  find  her  way  as  best  she  could  to  London,  a  very  sickly  episode 
was  witnessed  on  her  decks.  The  exact  tnise  en  scene  is  a  little 
obscure.  Probably  Jenkins  was  rude  to  the  officer  and  very  likely 
"  cheeked  "  him,  as  a  sailor  from  the  Lower  Thames  could  do  with 
great  power.  I  expect  Robert  was  chased  about  the  deck  cursing, 
was  caught  by  black-bearded  men,  who  dragged  him  aft  by  his 
coat  collar  and  then  tied  him  with  ropes  to  the  mainmast.  There 
he  would  be  in  sight  of  such  of  his  crew  as  had  fled  below  and, 
by  standing  on  the  table,  were  able  to  peep  out  of  the  cabin 
skylight.  The  scene  of  martyrdom  would  be  in  sight  also  of 
Jenkins'  dog  who  was  cowering,  with  a  look  of  ineffectual  com- 
passion, under  the  bulwarks. 

The  captain  of  the  Guarda-costa  now  approached  Jenkins  with 
a  grin,  and  taking  hold  of  one  of  his  red  ears  as  if  it  had  been 
a  ripe  fruit,  lopped  it  off  from  his  head  with  a  heavy  knife.  The 
blood,  no  doubt,  squirted  across  the  deck  ;  the  dog  would  crawl 


ON   THE   WAY   TO   JAMAICA.  269 

out  to  inspect  the  crimson  blotch,  would  understand  its  meaning 
and  retire  still  more  humbly  compassionate.  Any  of  the  crew  at 
the  skylight  who  had  a  grudge  against  the  "  old  man  "  may  have 
grinned  and  have  remarked,  with  leering  satisfaction,  that  "  the 
skipper  had  got  something  for  himself  this  time." 

The  Spaniard,  with  the  fine  courtesy  of  his  race,  placed  Jenkins' 
auricle  on  the  binnacle  with  ostentatious  care,  as  if  it  had  been 
a  floral  offering.  He  then  earnestly  begged  Jenkins  to  take  the 
memento  home  with  him,  and,  bowing  gravely,  wished  the  master 
of  the  Rebecca  "  Bon  voyage  !  " 

How  Jenkins  expressed  himself  to  his  shipmates  after  the 
visitors  had  left  and  while  his  bands  were  being  loosened  is  not 
known.  That  he  commented  upon  the  behaviour  of  the  Spaniards 
in  the  vivid  language  of  Wapping  is  probable  ;  that  he  kicked  the 
fawning  and  too  sympathetic  dog  is  also  probable. 

"  First  Aid  "  would,  no  doubt,  be  rendered  him  by  the  ship's 
carpenter,  who,  in  conformity  with  the  surgery  of  the  time,  would 
staunch  the  bleeding  with  crude  turpentine,  and  then  dress  the 
stump  with  a  piece  of  bunting  dipped  in  lamp  oil,  and  secured  by 
a  red  handkerchief 

One  thing  Jenkins  did  not  fail  to  do.  He  did  not  forget  to 
bring  his  ear  back  with  him,  as  the  courteous  Spaniard  had 
advised.  He  probably  placed  the  precious  relic  between  two  folds 
of  sail  cloth,  and  then  locked  it  up  in  the  drawer  where  he  kept  his 
sextant,  his  Bible  and  his  bottle  of  rum.  There  at  least  it  would 
be  safe  from  the  rats.  The  Rebecca  was  a  long  time  getting 
home,  for  she  did  not  reach  London  until  June  11,  by  which 
date  the  stump  of  Jenkins'  ear,  stimulated,  no  doubt,  from  time 
to  time  by  the  application  of  a  little  tar,  must  have  been  nicely 
healed. 

Jenkins,  when  he  had  berthed  his  brig  in  the  Thames,  lost  no 
time  in  proclaiming  his  martyrdom  and  in  bringing  his  sufferings 
before  a  horrified  country.  The  ear  no  doubt  was  exhibited 
upon  many  a  tavern  table  to  both  publicans  and  sinners,  and 
was  shown  as  well  to  the  shocked  parson  and  to  the  indignant 
squire.     If  the  repeated  narrative  made  Jenkins  tliirsty  they  were 


270  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

many  who  were  proud  to  relieve  that  thirst  if  only  they  might 
hold  the  seaweed-coloured  remains  for  a  moment  in  their  very 
hands.  Jenkins'  dead  ear  became  the  badge  of  an  infuriated  faction, 
just  as  was  once  the  red  rose  of  Lancaster  and  the  white  rose  of 
York. 

In  1738  the  master  of  the  Rebecca  gained  to  the  fountain  head, 
for  he  was  examined  before  a  committee  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons. Seven  years  had  now  elapsed  since  the  operation  and,  as 
antiseptics  were  not  then  in  use,  Jenkins'  pinna,  or  external  ear, 
must  have  been  sadly  changed.  Its  outlines  would  probably  have 
become  as  indefinite  as  those  of  a  crushed  date. 

That  the  captain  attended  at  Westminster  in  his  best  clothes 
and  with  his  hair  nicely  tied  up  in  a  pigtail  may  be  assumed. 
That  the  amputation  stump  was  not  looking  its  best  at  the  time 
is  probable.  Jenkins,  however,  at  the  inquiry  brought  forth  the 
relic,  or  rather,  as  the  historian  says,  "  he  produced  something 
which  he  asserted  was  his  ear."  This  something  he  no  doubt 
extracted  from  his  trousers  pocket  with  great  solemnity  and 
deliberation.  It  was  a  dramatic  moment.  The  something  would 
be  between  two  layers  of  much-thumbed  sail  cloth.  Jenkins 
would  proceed  to  separate  the  parts  as  a  man  would  open 
a  sandwich  to  demonstrate  what  was  within  it.  Then  to  the 
sickened  legislators  would  he  reveal  a  horrible  thing  called  by  its 
owner  an  ear,  but  which  might  as  well  be  the  shrivelled  husk  of 
some  ill-smelling  fruit. 

There  appears  to  have  been  no  anatomical  examination  made 
of  the  "  specimen."  The  committee  were  indeed  quite  uneasy 
until  it  w.as  wrapped  up  and  lurched  back  into  Jenkins'  pocket 
again. 

The  captain  made  one  mistake.  He  was  asked  by  an 
inquisitive  member  of  the  committee  how  he  felt  under  the 
operation.  Jenkins  was  ready  for  this.  Drawing  himself  erect, 
and  removing  the  tobacco  quid  from  his  cheek  for  clearer  speech, 
the  injured  mariner,  with  eyes  turned  to  heaven  and  with  uplifted 
hand,  said  "  I  committed  my  soul  to  God  and  my  cause  to  my 
country !  "     Now  this  was  not  like   Jenkins.     This  was  not   the 


ON   THE   WAY   TO   JAMAICA.  271 

speech  of  Gravesend  nor  of  Port  Royal.  It  was  very  beautiful, 
very  noble,  but  it  was  not  Wapping. 

Anyhow  the  ear,  or  the  something  asserted  to  be  an  ear,  led  to 
the  war,  which  same  was  declared  some  few  months  after  Jenkins' 
inspiring  speech.  It  was  not  a  very  successful  campaign  ;  so 
people  began  to  turn  against  Jenkins,  They  began  to  regard  his 
story  as  "extremely  doubtful,"  if  not  a  pure  invention.  They 
considered  him,  in  short,  a  liar.  The  least  kindly  disposed  went 
so  far  as  to  say  that  the  disgusting  thing  that  Jenkins  had  hawked 
about  for  seven  years  was  not  a  human  ear  at  all,  and  that  if  it 
was,  then  Jenkins  had  lost  it  in  the  pillory  in  the  ordinary  course 
of  justice. 

The  island  of  Jamaica,  which  we  are  now  approaching,  has 
been  in  the  possession  of  England  since  1655.  It  was  captured  in 
that  year  by  Penn  and  Venables,  who  had  been  sent  out  by 
Cromwell  with  general  instructions  "  to  obtain  establishment  in 
that  part  of  the  West  Indies  which  is  possessed  by  the  Spaniards." 

These  two  warriors  are  always  spoken  of  as  "  Penn  and 
Venables  "  as  if  they  were  members  of  some  commercial  firm. 
They  were  a  very  curious  couple.  Penn  was  an  admiral  and 
Venables  a  general.  They  left  England  on  Christmas  Day  1654, 
and  made  for  San  Domingo,  which  they  reached  in  April  of  the 
next  year.  Here  Venables  landed  with  a  force  of  7000  men  for 
the  purpose  of  taking  the  city.  His  army  was  undisciplined,  ill 
paid,  and  ill  equipped.  He  was  disgracefully  repulsed,  for  his 
men  turned  and  fled  from  a  small  party  of  negroes  and  Spaniards 
who  burst  out  upon  them  from  an  ambush  with  horrible  yells, 
close  under  the  walls  of  the  city.' 

Venables  declined  to  try  again  ;  so  the  firm  left  Espanola  and 
moved  on  to  Jamaica.  They  reached  Passage  Fort,  the  seaward 
fort  of  the  old  capital,  on  May  10.  Penn  had  had,  by  this  time, 
quite  enough  of  soldiers  and  more  than  enough  of  Venables,  so 
he  led  the  attack  himself  in  a  little  galley  called  the  Martin^ 
stormed  the  fort  and  took  it,  and,  with  it,  Jamaica. 

The  military  partner  in  the  firm  did  not  land  until  he  saw  that 
*  Tlu  Royal  Navy,  by  Sir  William  Laird  Clowes,  vol.  ii.  :  London,  1897. 


272  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE    DEEP. 

all  resistance  was  over,  and  although  the  British  boats  came  by 
cheering,  close  to  the  ship  on  which  he  stood,  "  he  continued 
walking  about,  wrapped  up  in  his  cloak,  with  his  hat  over  his 
eyes,  looking  as  if  he  had  been  studying  of  physic  more  than  the 
general  of  an  army."  It  may  be  here  said  that  the  costume  and 
attitude  of  Venables  during  this  crisis  are  not  characteristic  of  the 
modern  medical  student  during  periods  of  disturbance,  although  it 
may  be  a  correct  picture  of  the  budding  doctor  in  Cromwellian 
times. 

It  is  probable  that  Venables,  as  he  stalked  the  deck  with  his 
hat  over  his  eyes,  was  thinking  of  trout  and  dace  fishing,  for  he 
was  the  author  of  a  work  entitled  "  The  Experienced  Angler,  or 
Angling  Improved." 

The  experienced  angler  reached  England  on  September  9 
165s,  "  almost  a  skeleton,"  and  was  promptly  sent  to  the  Tower, 
where  he  possibly  occupied  his  enforced  leisure  by  fishing  in  the 
moat. 

Admiral  Penn,  when  he  returned  from  the  wars,  was  also  at 
once  sent  to  the  Tower,  as  if  it  had  been  a  convalescent  home  for 
officers.  His  imprisonment,  however,  only  lasted  a  few  weeks, 
for  the  charge  against  him  was  merely  that  of  returning  home 
without  leave. 

Penn,  who  had  suffered  so  much  from  the  acts  of  his  junior 
partner,  is  described  as  "  a  mild-spoken,  fair-haired  man,  with  a 
comely  round  visage."  He  would  seem,  therefore,  to  have  been 
a  gentle  creature  of  the  type  of  the  Cheeryble  Brothers,  but  Pepys, 
who  was  his  surbordinate,  hated  him  with  a  poisonous  hatred. 
He  has  made  him  immortal  in  his  famous  Diary,  where  he  refers 
to  him  as  "  a  mean  and  cunning  rogue,"  as  "  a  very  villain,* 
and  finally,  in  the  delirium  of  his  wrath,  as  "  a  coxcomb." 


THE     KING  S     HOUSE,    SPANISH    TOWN. 


A     STREET     IN     SPANISH      loWN 


LIV. 

SPANISH   TOWN. 

Jamaica,  as  the  world  well  knows,  is  a  gracious  and  beautiful 
island,  of  whose  delights  many  appreciative  accounts  are  to  be  found 
in  the  literature  of  the  West  Indies.  Possessed  of  an  infinitely 
picturesque  coast  line,  of  glorious  valleys  and  romantic  glades,  of 
such  heights  as  the  Blue  Mountains,  of  such  rivers  as  the  Roaring 
River  and  the  Rio  Cobre,  Jamaica  may  claim  to  be,  as  John 
Sparke  ^  would  express  it,  "  a  country  marvellously  sweet." 

Those  to  whom  Port  Antonio  chances  to  afford  the  earliest 
sight  of  a  West  Indian  harbour  will  well  understand  why  Colum- 
bus named  the  first  bay  that  he  came  upon  Santa  Gloria,  and 
why  the  early  travellers  spoke  of  the  island  as  an  earthly  paradise. 
The  palm-fringed  haven  of  Port  Antonio  is  as  delightful  a  spot 
as  will  be  found  anywhere  in  these  seas.  The  town  itself  is  an 
American  settlement,  to  which  flock,  in  the  winter  time,  countless 
tourists  from  the  United  States. 

The  place,  though  small,  is  the  centre  of  the  banana  trade 
between  the  island  and  the  great  continent.  Banana  plants  flood 
the  adjacent  land  with  leagues  of  delicate  green.  They  cover  the 
feet  of  the  everlasting  hills  ;  they  line  each  dip  and  dell ;  they 
follow  the  highway  persistently  all  the  way  across  the  country  to 
the  very  outskirts  of  Kingston. 

It  is  a  better  and  finer  banana  than  that  which  so  delighted 
the  comrades  of  Drake.  Those  hungry  pioneers  described  it  with 
gusto  as  a  fruit  that  "when  it  waxeth  ripe  the  meat  which  filleth 
the  rind  of  the  cod  becometh  yellow  and  is  exceedingly  sweet  and 
pleasant." 

'  The  record-keeper  of  John  Hawkins'  expeditions. 


274  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

The  banana  was  but  one  of  many  things,  by  the  bye,  which 
excited  the  admiration  of  the  curious  who  came  into  these  parts. 
The  alligators  of  Jamaica — which  are  still  to  be  found  plentifully 
enough  in  the  Black  River — much  interested  the  men  of  the  sea. 
"  Among  these  caymans,"  writes  Esquemeling  the  buccaneer, 
"  some  are  found  to  be  of  a  corpulency  very  horrible  to  the  sight." 
(This  is  noticeable,  for  the  pirate  was  not  easily  shocked  by  what 
he  saw.)  The  same  visitor  was  greatly  charmed  with  certain 
crickets  which  were  "  of  an  extraordinary  magnitude,  and  so  full 
of  noise  that  they  are  ready  to  burst  themselves  with  singing 
if  any  person  comes  near  them." 

Many  of  the  animals  reported  upon  by  observant  adventurers 
are  no  longer  to  be  found  in  the  island,  nor  indeed  upon  the  face 
of  the  globe.  Among  these  is  a  reptile  described  by  a  French 
mariner  as  "  a  serpent  with  three  heads  and  four  feet,  of  the  big- 
ness of  a  great  spaniel,  which,  for  want  of  an  arquebus,  he  durst 
not  attempt  to  slay."  But  for  this  unfortunate  lack  of  a  weapon 
the  Museum  of  the  Louvre  might  have  become  possessed  of  a 
unique  natural  history  specimen  of  great  worth. 

Another  extinct  animal  is  a  species  of  wild  pig.  These  pigs 
were  seen  on  the  adjacent  mainland  by  no  less  a  person  than 
Don  Alonzo  Enriquez  de  Guzman.^  They  were  "  somewhat 
smaller  than  those  in  Castile,"  says  this  precise  observer,  but  were 
peculiar  in  having  "  their  navels  on  their  backs."  Lest  any  one 
should  doubt  this  anatomical  peculiarity  in  the  Caribbean  swine, 
the  conscientious  De  Guzman  adds  "  I  say  this  because  I  have 
seen  them  ;  for  I  shall  tell  no  lies,  because  I  must  give  an  account 
to  God  of  what  you  may  here  read."  This  is  a  brave  saying  of 
the  gallant  Spaniard,  for  truth  is  always  precious. 

Wherever  may  be  the  point  of  landing  in  Jamaica,  one  of  the 
first  places  to  be  visited  on  the  island  will  certainly  be  Spanish 
Town.  This  place  is  about  thirteen  miles  from  Kingston,  and 
can  be  reached  by  rail — but  by  a  back-aching  journey — from 
Port  Antonio. 

Spanish  Town  is  the  old  capital  of  Jamaica.       It  was  founded 

'  Hakluyt  Society,  1862. 


SPANISH    TOWN.  275 

in  1523,  and  was  known  as  the  City  of  St.  Jago  de  la  Vega. 
When  the  British  came  into  the  possession  of  the  island  this  name 
was  a  little  more  than  the  ordinary  seaman  could  manage.  It 
was  gibberish  unworthy  of  any  reputable  city  ;  so  they  called  the 
place  Spanish  Town,  and  that  title  it  retains  to  this  day.  It 
remained  the  capital  and  the  seat  of  government  until  the  year 
1 87 1,  when  the  representative  of  the  Crown  removed  to  Kingston 
with  his  horses,  and  his  men,  and  his  retinue  of  white -jacketed 
servants. 

Spanish  Town  was  left  to  its  memories.  By  the  banks  of  the 
Rio  Cobre  it  had  leisure  to  ruminate  over  the  emotions  of  three 
centuries  and  a  half,  during  which  period  the  heart  of  the  colony 
beat  within  its  walls.  It  can  look  back  upon  times  of  terror  and 
days  of  elation,  as  well  as  upon  many  a  proud  moment  when  the 
fate  of  the  island  hung  upon  its  voice. 

It  may  be  expected  that  at  Spanish  Town  will  be  found  the 
time-blackened  wall,  the  barbican  and  the  moat,  the  steep  cobble- 
stoned  way  that  leads  up  by  ruffian  walls  to  the  castle  gate,  the 
mumbling  lane  that  creeps  bent-backed  under  the  shadow  of 
tottering  houses,  the  alcaide's  mansion  with  a  well  in  its  court,  and 
the  blustering  quarters  of  the  Spanish  guard.  There  is,  however, 
none  of  this.  Spanish  Town  lies  on  a  flat  by  the  Rio  Cobre, 
a  little  grandmotherly  village  that  is  much  given  to  detached 
villas  with  white  walls,  ample  green  shutters,  and  overgrown 
gardens.  Of  old  Spain  there  is  no  trace  left.  There  is  no 
encircling  rampart,  for  St.  Jago  de  la  Vega  now  fades  im- 
perceptibly into  the  country. 

It  is  a  small,  sweet  place,  quaint,  quiet,  and  sound  asleep.  It 
is  a  village  where  there  is  eternal  summer  ;  where  the  trees  are 
always  green,  where  flowers  are  ever  in  bloom.  Most  of  the 
houses  are  of  wood,  with  ash-coloured  shingles  on  the  roof;  many 
are  old,  and  made  exquisite  in  tint  by  centuries  of  sun.  All  are 
gay  with  jalousies  or  verandahs,  with  balconies  or  breezy  porches, 
for  it  is  hard  to  keep  out  the  flood  of  light  which  pours  down  upon 
this  "  level  mead."  After  three  centuries  of  strenuous  life  Spanish 
Town  would  seem  to  have  resolved  to  doze  out  the  rest  of  its  life 


276  THE   CRADLE    OF   THE   DEEP. 

in  the  sun.  The  clean  bright  streets  are  deserted  ;  the  few  folk 
who  are  abroad  are  limp  with  a  becoming  languor  ;  there  is  no 
apparent  trade  in  the  ancient  capital,  and  no  evidence  of  any- 
serious  industry  or  specific  occupation. 

The  recent  earthquake  gave  an  unkind  shock  to  this  drowsy 
city,  whereby  the  few  houses  that  are  built  of  brick  suffered 
acutely.  There  is  the  element  of  wantonness  about  this  rude 
shaking  of  Spanish  Town.  It  is  as  if  an  opium  eater,  asleep  in  a 
field,  had  been  suddenly  tossed  into  the  air  by  a  rabid  bull. 

The  relics  of  the  past  grandeur  of  Spanish  Town  are  to  be 
found  collected  together  in  a  central  square.  The  square  prac- 
tically constitutes  the  metropolis,  since  outside  the  enclosure 
there  are  merely  rustic  suburbs.  The  square  is  a  curious  and 
unexpected  place.  Among  negro  huts,  palm  trees  and  tropical 
bungalows  is  introduced  the  prudish  market-place  of  a  small 
provincial  town  in  England.  It  is  emphatically  a  genteel  square, 
yet  severe  and  parochial.  In  the  centre  is  just  such  a  garden, 
within  iron  railings,  as  would  be  proper  to  Bloomsbury.  On  one 
side  is  the  House  of  Assembly,  with  a  long  colonnade  of  brick 
arches,  of  a  type  to  be  met  with  in  the  Tunbridge  Wells  or  the 
Buxton  of  bygone  days.  So  suggestive  is  the  whole  place  of 
a  spa,  that  this  building  will  be  at  once  pronounced  by  visitors  to 
be  the  pump  room. 

Opposite  to  the  House  of  Assembly  is  the  King's  house,  which 
building  was,  until  recent  years,  the  official  residence  of  the 
governor.  It  has  all  the  chastened  features  of  the  provincial  town 
hall,  white  pillars  supporting  a  heavy  portico,  a  solemn  front  door, 
and  such  windows  as  should  adorn  the  parlour  of  a  mayor.  It  has 
no  affectation  of  exclusiveness,  no  air  of  withdrawing  itself  from 
the  vulgar  gaze,  no  carriage  drive,  no  forbidding  gates.  It  stands, 
with  friendly  condescension,  close  to  the  roadway,  so  close,  indeed, 
that  little  boys  can  look  in  at  the  lower  windows  by  clinging  to 
the  sills. 

On  another  flank  of  the  square  is  Rodney's  Memorial.  It 
takes  the  form  of  an  octagonal  kiosk,  or  classic  temple,  sur- 
mounted by  a  dome  and  flanked  by  a  colonnade  of  Ionic  pillars. 


vK*^* 


RODNEY  S     MONUMENT,    SPANISH     TOWN. 
The  damage  done  by  the  earthquake  will  be  noticed. 


SPANISH    TOWN.  277 

One  rather  expects  to  find  inside  a  jet  of  water  pouring  from 
a  stone,  and  an  old  woman,  provided  with  drinking  mugs, 
collecting  coppers.  The  statue  is  by  Bacon  and  is,  no  doubt, 
worthy  of  being  admired.  Rodney  is  bareheaded  and  naked  to 
the  waist.  He  wears  sandals,  has  a  toga  hanging  from  his 
shoulders,  and  a  kilt  girt  about  his  loins.  His  hand  rests  not 
upon  a  cutlass  but  upon  a  shield.  His  attempt  to  assume  the 
character  of  an  ancient  Roman  is  not  very  convincing,  for  it  is 
impossible  to  mistake  the  fine,  vigorous,  British  face  of  the 
redoubtable  seaman.  In  front  of  him  are  the  two  great  cannons 
he  took  from  the  Ville  de  Paris  of  which  mention  has  been 
already  made  (page  176). 

On  the  remaining  side  of  the  square  is  the  Court  House,  as 
provincial  as  the  rest,  surmounted  by  an  old  and  respectable 
clock  tower.  The  building  suggests  quarter  sessions  and  sheriffs, 
and  it  would  be  quite  appropriate  if  Bumble,  with  his  staff,  stood 
on  guard  at  the  entry.  The  whole  of  this  quaint  market  town 
square  is  indeed  so  well  in  keeping,  that  one  only  misses  the 
farmers  gossiping  in  the  roadway,  the  yokels,  the  carriers'  carts, 
and  the  country-women's  booths. 

In  an  indefinite  clearing  among  the  suburbs,  in  the  midst  of 
the  bungalows  and  the  palms,  is  to  be  found  the  English  Cathedral. 
It  is  stated  to  occupy  "  one  of  the  oldest  ecclesiastical  sites  in  the 
New  World,"  and  to  have  been  built  upon  the  foundations  of  the 
ancient  Spanish  church  of  the  Red  Cross.  The  structure  is  large 
and  dignified,  is  cruciform  in  outline,  and  is  furnished  with  a  tower 
capped  by  a  white  steeple  of  wood.  It  is  built  of  red  bricks  which 
have  faded,  in  the  progress  of  years,  to  a  dainty  rose-colour.  A 
tablet  states  that  the  tower  was  thrown  down  by  a  hurricane  in 
17 1 2,  and  was  re-erected  two  years  later.  Around  it,  in  a  garden- 
like burial  ground,  is  a  host  of  ancient  tombs,  many  of  which  are 
now  ruinous.  The  main  building,  especially  the  south  transept, 
has  been  seriously  damaged  by  the  earthquake. 

This  venerable  church  is  the  Westminster  Abbey  of  Jamaica. 
The  memorials  which  crowd  its  walls  tell  in  stone  the  history  of 
the  island,  for  here  all  the  great  folk  of  the  colony  were  buried  for 


278  THE   CRADLE    OF   THE    DEEP. 

many  a  century.  Here  lie  the  makers  of  Jamaica  as  well  as  its 
martyrs,  governors  and  their  consorts,  generals  and  sea  captains, 
judges,  advocates  and  doctors,  young  subalterns  and  little  children. 
They  come  from  all  parts  of  England  and  of  Scotland,  as  well  as 
from  the  "  Kingdom  of  Ireland."  Many  of  the  monuments  are 
exquisite  and  indeed  passing  beautiful,  especially  those  carved  by 
the  chisel  of  John  Bacon,  the  Royal  Academician. 

These  tablets  and  cenotaphs  are  rich  with  coats  of  arms,  with 
copious  poetry,  with  classic  urns,  with  untempered  eulogy.  They 
all  breathe,  however,  that  poignant  tenderness  which  clings  to  the 
memory  of  those  who  died  in  exile.  Saddest  of  all  is  it  to  note 
how  many  of  those  remembered  died  at  sea,  "  going  home." 


sFANIoH     TuWN — ONE     OF     Cu.Mlt     Uh     OKAsoL   a     (jUNS     FROM     THE 
"  VILLE     DE     PARIS,"    TAKEN     BV    RODNEY,    1782. 


A     STREET     IN     SPANISH     TOWN. 


LV. 

KINGSTON    IN   RUINS. 

I  REACHED  Kingston  less  than  a  month  after  the  disastrous  earth- 
quake, travelling  from  Port  Antonio  by  train  across  the  island. 
On  approaching  the  capital  we  looked  out  anxiously  for  signs  of 
ruin,  but  there  was  nothing  noteworthy  to  be  seen  along  the  line. 
From  what  could  be  observed,  as  the  train  ran  into  the  terminus, 
the  station  itself  would  seem  to  be  uninjured.  There  was  the 
usual  disorder  on  the  platform  incident  to  the  arrival  of  the  chief 
train  of  the  day.  Without,  in  the  glare  of  the  sun,  were  the 
familiar  rabble  of  a  station  yard,  the  crowd  of  carts  and  of  cabs, 
the  yelling  drivers,  the  importunate  boys.  One  almost  expected 
to  find  the  people  preoccupied,  if  not  lachrymose  or  destitute- 
looking,  but  there  was  just  the  bustling,  amiable  crowd  as  it  had 
been  any  day  for  the  last  ten  years. 

We  jumped  into  a  buggy,  and  told  the  man  to  get  out  of  the 
hubbub  and  drive  through  the  town.  In  a  moment  we  were  in  a 
death-like  silence  and  in  a  scene  of  blank  desolation.  The  road 
was  so  thick  with  fine  dust  that  the  wheels  of  the  buggy  and  the 
horse's  hoofs  made  no  sound.  There  was  hardly  a  living  soul  in 
sight.  The  change  was  astounding.  It  can  only  be  appreciated 
by  those  who  have  escaped  from  the  rattle  and  chaos  of  the  rail- 
way station  at  Venice  to  find  themselves  in  a  gondola,  dazed  by 
the  stillness  of  the  Grand  Canal. 

The  destruction  in  the  part  of  the  city  which  we  had  entered 
was  complete,  for  what  the  earthquake  had  left  the  fire  demolished. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  man  on  the  steamer  at  Trinidad  had  spoken 
truth  when  he  said  that  Kingston  no  longer  existed.  The 
roads   had  been  cleared,  but  no  attempt  of  any  kind  had  been 


28o  THE   CRADLE   OF  THE   DEEP. 

made  at  even  a  casual  restoration.  Almost  as  strange  as  the 
silence  was  the  greyness  of  the  scene,  the  absence  of  all  colour, 
the  sense  of  a  desert  of  pale  stone.  With  it  too  was  the  unwonted 
light,  for  as  all  the  roofs  and  upper  stories  had  vanished,  and  as 
many  of  the  houses  were  left  no  higher  than  a  garden  wall,  the 
city  seemed  bared  to  the  heavens,  bared  to  its  very  bones  and 
whitened  ribs.  The  impression  of  desolation  was  more  absolute 
than  that  presented  by  the  ruins  of  St.  Pierre,  for  there  creepers 
and  weeds  had  covered  the  waste,  and  had  smoothed  the  edges 
of  jagged  walls. 

Let  the  Londoner  imagine  himself  standing  at  the  point  where 
the  great  thoroughfares  of  Regent  Street  and  Oxford  Street  inter- 
sect. Let  him  conceive  those  streets  silent,  empty  of  human 
beings,  and  covered  deep  with  white  dust  as  if  with  snow.  Let 
him  picture  the  houses,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  stretch,  in  ruins, 
roofless  and  windowless,  crushed  down  to  the  height  of  some 
dozen  feet,  mere  pens  of  stone  filled  with  charred  rubbish ;  and 
then  let  him  realise  that  this  desolation  extended  on  all  sides  over 
an  area  of  nearly  sixty  acres,  and  he  will  appreciate  how  Kingston 
appeared  to  those  who  knew  it  as  a  place  once  bristling  with 
affairs  and  astir  with  life. 

There  hung  above  the  town  at  the  time  a  mist  of  dust,  horrible 
to  breathe,  and  with  it  drifted,  now  and  then,  a  loathsome  smell 
which  was  not  merely  that  of  smouldering  debris. 

Over  the  heaps  of  bricks  and  stone  along  the  street  would  be 
trailing  a  tangled  network  of  wires,  as  if  some  dreadful  bramble, 
with  stalks  and  tendrils  of  iron,  was  crawling  across  the  place  when 
its  leaves  were  blasted  into  dust.  Among  the  chaos  are  lamp- 
posts, aimless  rain-water  pipes,  the  iron  pillars  of  a  long  arcade, 
girders  and  rods,  the  railings  of  a  balcony  the  fragment  of  an  iron 
stair. 

The  ample  roofs  of  corrugated  iron,  so  common  in  these  parts, 
have  taken  to  themselves  strange  shapes.  In  one  place  a  mighty 
plate,  fifty  feet  wide,  coiled  up  into  a  cone,  covers  the  ruin  in 
the  manner  of  a  tent.  In  another  spot  a  long  drooping  sheet, 
stretched    over    many  walls     looks   like    a  dragon's   wing.     Some 


KINGSTON    IN    RUINS.  281 

of  the  forlorn  wrecks  of  houses  seem  to  have  wrapped  themselves 
round  with  a  covering  of  this  iron  as  with  a  cloak.  From  one 
building  the  metal  roof  has  been  twisted  off  by  the  fire  and 
dropped  on  end  among  the  stones,  where  it  stands  like  some 
hideous  cactus  sprouting  in  the  wilderness.  Along  the  wharves 
sheets  of  corrugated  iron  strew  the  ground  in  drifts  like  heaped- 
up  autumn  leaves.  At  a  few  points  are  charred  trees,  rising  stiff 
and  metallic-looking  against  the  sky.  They  make  a  fitting 
perching  place  for  the  carrion  crows  who  still  watch  the  ruins 
hungrily. 

All  the  individuality  of  the  various  houses  is  blotted  out. 
In  one  court,  half  choked  with  bricks,  is  the  skeleton  of  a  buggy, 
suggesting  that  the  place  in  which  it  stands  was  once  a  coach- 
house. A  mass  of  blackened  goods,  pots,  pans,  and  saws,  indicate 
an  ironmonger's  shop,  a  holocaust  of  broken  bottles  marks  a  beer 
store.  Still  on  one  house  front  is  the  placard  "  Gents'  Ties,"  while 
to  a  scorched  wall  hangs  by  one  nail  a  plaque  with  the  inscription 
"  Try  our  Cooler," 

The  streets  at  night,  when  lit  only  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 
are  veritable  streets  of  the  dead.  There  are  no  lamps  of  any  kind 
by  the  roadside.  Each  causeway  is  slashed  by  the  shadows  of 
notched  walls  so  black  and  sharply  cut  that  they  lie  on  the  white 
paths  as  if  inlaid  in  jet.  Within  the  roofless  houses  are  other 
shadows  that  take  the  shape  of  crouching  figures,  or  the  semblance 
of  upstretched  arms ;  while  a  pillar  with  a  wire  dangling  from  it 
throws  on  the  cross  roads  the  black  outline  of  a  gibbet. 

The  ways  are  silent,  muffled  by  the  ashy  dust.  One  dares 
only  speak  in  a  whisper.  There  is  not  a  living  creature  to  be 
seen  in  the  ghostly  lanes  except  a  prowling  dog  or  some  scurrying 
rats,  for  the  negro  shuns  the  gaunt  city  after  the  sun  has  set.  He 
fears  to  see  spectral  women  grubbing  for  their  dead  among  the 
stones,  and  to  hear  the  stifled  cries  of  those  who  still  lie  buried 
beneath  the  ruins. 

Beyond  the  burned  area  and  in  the  suburbs,  although  the 
earthquake  has  been  as  destructive,  there  is  less  the  sense  of  utter 
annihilation.     There  are  here  the  movement  and   colour   of  life, 


282  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

signs  of  human  occupation  and  the  companionship  of  gardens  and 
green  trees.  The  mango  is  breaking  into  blossom,  and  the  lignum 
vitai  is  covered  with  flowers  of  a  deep  forget-me-not  blue.  Once 
more  there  are  definite  days  in  the  week  ;  once  more  the  routine 
of  existence,  so  abruptly  checked,  is  moving  unconcernedly. 

Some  of  the  houses  and  villas  are  mere  shapeless  heaps, 
represented  by  a  roof  lying  flat  on  a  lawn,  a  roof  from  under  whose 
eaves  has  poured  forth  on  every  side  a  cascade  of  bricks.  There  is 
not  a  house  still  standing  that  does  not  show  sinuous  cracks,  like 
streaks  of  lightning,  down  its  sides,  bulging  walls,  a  missing 
portico,  or  a  medley  of  debris  in  its  just  vacated  rooms. 

In  many  an  instance  the  front  or  side  wall  of  the  house  has 
fallen  away  from  the  building,  revealing  the  rooms,  floor  by  floor, 
just  as  a  doll's  house  is  exposed  when  its  hinged  front  is  thrown 
back.  Here  every  intimate  corner  from  the  attic  to  the  cellar, 
from  the  drawing-room  to  the  black  cook's  bedroom,  is  open  to 
the  eyes  of  inquisitive  neighbours.  The  curious  can  see  how  an 
acquaintance's  guest  room  was  papered,  and  how  well  or  ill  it  was 
kept. 

The  bedstead  is  in  place,  its  mosquito  curtains  are  undisturbed, 
while  a  mass  of  plaster  weighs  down  the  tidy  coverlet.  The 
pictures  swing  on  the  wall,  but  at  strange  angles ;  there  are  clothes 
on  a  peg  ;  one  drawer  of  a  chest  of  drawers  has  slid  open,  as  the 
house  rocked  over,  and  none  have  ventured  to  close  it.  The  bed- 
room door  is  ajar ;  it  leads  out  to  the  fragment  of  a  staircase  pendent 
in  the  open  air.  In  a  lower  room  the  table  is  heaped  up  with 
wreckage,  but  the  tablecloth  is  just  as  the  neat  hands  of  the  house- 
wife left  it.  Heavy  joists  have  crushed  through  the  sofa,  while 
among  the  pile  of  rubbish  are  an  overturned  rocking-chair,  a 
lamp  and  some  children's  toys.  The  upper  floor  of  the  dwelling 
drops  into  the  basement  room  like  the  lid  of  a  box.  A  window 
blind  flaps  from  the  shred  of  a  casement.  An  electric  light  hangs 
into  a  room  that  has  no  floor  and  only  two  walls.  To  some 
wrecks  of  houses  balconies  are  clinging,  impotent  and  crazy,  but 
still  covered  with  creepers. 

The  statue  of  Queen  Victoria,  near  the  public  gardens,  shows 


KINGSTON    IN    RUINS.  283 

a  curious  effect  of  the  disturbance.  The  immense  mass  of  marble 
with  its  heavy  pedestal  has  been  shaken  like  a  glass  on  a  shelf, 
and  so  rotated  upon  its  plinth  that  the  figure,  otherwise  uninjured, 
faces  in  a  different  direction. 

The  venerable  Parish  Church  of  Kingston  presents  an  astound- 
ing appearance.  This  picturesque  old  building  of  red  brick  has 
already  escaped  four  disastrous  conflagrations,  each  one  of  which 
laid  low  the  town,^  and  now,  remarkable  enough,  the  fire  was  stayed 
within  a  few  yards  of  its  doors.  The  square  tower  is  surmounted 
by  a  wooden  steeple,  which  is  so  tilted  upon  its  base  that  it  is  a 
wonder  it  does  not  topple  over  into  the  graveyard. 

The  tower  itself  shows  ragged  breaches  in  its  walls  as  if  it  had 
been  battered  by  a  nine-inch  gun.  The  arches  of  its  windows 
have  fallen  out,  while  through  the  gaping  cracks  in  its  sides  it  is 
possible  to  see  the  belfry  ropes  and  the  bells. 

Within  the  church  is  a  scene  of  incredible  ruin.  The  east  wall 
of  the  chancel  having  dropped  away  the  altar  and  its  sombre 
reredos  are  now  in  the  open  air.  The  great  stone  pillars  of  the 
nave  are  cracked  and  twisted  out  of  the  straight,  as  if  some  Titanic 
Samson  had  clasped  them  in  his  fury.  The  ceiling  of  the  coved 
roof  has  fallen  down,  leaving  bare  the  laths  and  beams.  Through 
gashes  in  the  walls  it  is  possible  to  see  into  the  street.  Where 
windows  stood  are  huge  cavernous  openings  above  a  pile  of  glass. 
The  chancel  rails  are  a  line  of  splinters.  The  pews,  except  in  a 
few  places,  have  been  crushed  to  the  ground  by  falling  stones,  by 
masses  of  plaster  and  ponderous  timbers. 

The  fine  old  monuments  and  tablets  which  cover  the  aisles 
have  been,  for  the  most  part,  shaken  to  fragments.  Some  have 
fallen  among  the  general  wreckage,  while  others  are  still  holding 
to  the  masonry  in  disjointed  pieces.  The  floor  is  a  wild,  heaped- 
up  waste  of  stones,  mortar,  stained  glass,  dust  and  bricks,  mingled 
with  splinters  of  pews,  roof  planks,  hassocks,  cushions,  lamps  and 
hymn  books. 

Conspicuous  among  the  ddbris  were  two  curious  things — a 
girl's  bright-coloured  paper  fan,  and  a  white  death's  head  in  marble, 

'  The  great  tires  of  l7t>o,  1843,  i^*J2  and  iii62. 


284  THE   CRADLE    OF   THE    DEEP. 

which  had  dropped  from  one  of  the  memorials  on  the  wall  and 
was  grinning  from  out  of  the  dust. 

Perched  aloft  above  this  dismal  wreckage,  high  on  the  summit 
of  the  steeple  and  looking  ever  across  the  ruins  of  the  forlorn  city, 
is  the  golden  weather-cock,  still  bright,  valiant  and  cheery.  As 
it  swings  contentedly  in  the  path  of  the  breeze,  it  makes  the  one 
gleam  of  gold  against  the  dust-clouded  sky. 


LVI. 

A   RECORD   OF   TEN   SECONDS. 

Kingston  ;  Monday,  January  14,  1907,  at  3.30  P.M.  Such  were 
the  day  and  the  hour.  The  afternoon  was  sunny  and  hot ;  a  faint 
breeze  was  astir  and  the  town  was  languidly  busy. 

Suddenly  there  hissed  through  the  streets  the  sound  of  a 
rushing  mighty  wind.  Folk  looked  up  at  palm  trees  near  by, 
expecting  to  see  them  bowed  to  the  ground,  but  they  remained 
unshaken. 

With  the  phantom  wind  came  a  direr  sound,  a  noise  of  some- 
thing advancing  with  the  fury  of  an  avalanche,  a  sound  the  most 
portentous  and  unforgettable  that  the  world  knows.  Those  who 
speak  of  it  compare  it  feebly  to  the  rumble  of  a  crowd  of  waggons 
tearing  on  at  a  gallop,  to  the  rush  of  uncountable  horsemen, 
to  the  hollow  roaring  of  a  train  in  a  tunnel,  to  the  bursting 
of  a  great  river. 

At  the  same  moment  the  whole  solid  earth  was  shaken 
violently  and  viciously,  so  that  men  were  thrown  about  like 
puppets.  Then  followed  the  appalling  crash  and  clatter  of 
a  thousand  falling  houses,  a  burst  of  screams  that  rent  the 
heavens,  and  the  uprising  into  the  air  of  a  column  of  yellow 
dust. 

For  a  moment  after  there  fell  upon  the  place  a  stupefying 
silence.  Those  who  remember  it  say  that  this  interval  of  still- 
ness was  the  most  tragic  feature  in  the  whole  dread  episode. 

In  ten  seconds  a  town  of  46,000  inhabitants  had  become 
a  ruin,  while  some  hundreds  of  its  people  were  lying  dead  or 
dying  beneath  its  wreckage.  Only  ten  seconds !  and  yet  the 
call  of  the  many  had  been  "  Will  it  never  stop  ?  " 


286  THE    CRADLE    OF   THE    DEEP. 

Details  of  the  catastrophe,  gained  from  various  sources,  help 
to  complete  the  picture  of  what  happened  in  this  fateful  fraction 
of  a  minute.  An  officer  on  a  steamer  by  the  quay  heard  the 
weird  wind,  felt  the  ship  shaken  as  by  an  explosion,  and  then, 
looking  ashore,  saw  the  long  wharf  rock  up  and  down  as  thin 
ice  rocks  over  a  wave,  saw  people  thrown  to  the  ground  and 
others  in  strange  attitudes  trying  to  keep  their  balance,  leaning 
forwards  as  men  caught  in  a  hurricane,  leaning  back  as  men 
in  peril  on  a  slope,  standing  with  legs  wide  apart  or  clinging 
to  posts  and  bollards.  The  great  buildings  swayed  to  and  fro. 
Then  came  the  din  of  falling  walls,  with  the  rattle  of  an  acre 
of  corrugated  iron  tumbling  from  roofs — whereupon  the  scene 
was  immediately  blotted  out  by  dust, 

A  lady  driving  in  the  suburbs  felt  her  carriage  lifted  up  and 
shaken  like  a  toy  ;  the  horses,  staggering  to  and  fro,  seemed  at  one 
moment  to  be  straining  up  hill  and  at  another  to  be  hurrying 
down  a  dip  in  the  road.  She  heard  a  roar  in  the  town  like  that 
of  far-off  artillery,  and  saw  the  yellow  cloud  rise  slowly  up  into 
the  sky. 

An  officer  in  his  bungalow,  dressing  for  tennis,  felt  the  house 
roll  like  a  ship  in  the  sea,  saw  the  door  swing  open  by  itself, 
found  himself  hurled  through  the  opening  and  cast  headlong 
down  the  stair.  On  reaching  the  garden  he  looked  up  at  the 
building,  to  find  the  whole  front  wall  fallen  to  the  earth,  and 
his  wife  standing  in  her  bedroom  by  the  dressing-table,  on  what 
seemed  a  mere  film  of  a  floor,  dazed  and  looking  down  at  him  with 
vacant  eyes.     She  appeared  as  if  standing  in  an  ascending  lift. 

A  gentleman,  paying  an  afternoon  call,  perceived  the  house 
being  tilted  from  its  foundations.  He  and  his  hostess  rushed 
through  an  open  window  into  the  garden  and  fell  to  the  ground. 
They  rose,  clung  to  one  another  but  fell  again,  and  as  they  heard 
the  building  come  down  behind  them,  crawled  away  on  their 
hands  and  knees  to  the  shelter  of  some  bushes. 

A  party  of  gentlemen  meeting  in  a  hall  heard  the  roar,  felt  the 
floor  rock  so  that  those  near  a  table  clung  to  it  with  both  hands, 
but  realised  little  until  the  ceiling  began  to  fall  and  until  they 


A  RECORD  OF  TEN  SECONDS.       287 

saw  the  sunlit  street  through  cracks  in  the  wall.  They  gained  the 
door,  but  one — such  is  the  force  of  habit — walked  back  quietly  for 
his  hat  and  umbrella. 

It  was  in  the  crowded  streets  of  the  business  quarter  that  the 
din,  the  medley,  and  the  fright  were  most  acute.  Many  have 
very  little  idea  what  precisely  happened  or  what  they  saw  or  did. 
One  man  visiting  a  shop  found  himself  shaken  up  with  the  general 
goods  of  the  store  as  if  he  and  they  were  loose  things  in  a  box. 
He  has  a  recollection  of  making  for  the  door,  of  finding  it  blocked 
with  barrels  of  flour,  over  which  he  crawled,  noting  incidentally 
that  a  screaming  girl — whom  he  had  never  seen  before — was 
clinging  to  his  coat  tails.  In  the  street  he  found  himself  enveloped 
in  a  yellow  fog,  which  shut  out  everything  but  the  crackling  and 
crunching  of  tumbling  walls. 

It  was  not  always  easy  to  escape  into  the  street.  A  young 
woman  in  an  upper  room,  finding  the  door  jammed,  jumped  out 
of  the  window  into  a  tree  by  the  path,  and  before  she  could  be 
helped  down  the  entire  building  had  collapsed.  A  lad  was  come 
upon  hanging  to  the  window  sill  of  a  house  which  was  already 
roofless  and  floorless.  Frantic  people  staggered  down  staircases 
which  rolled  from  side  to  side  like  the  companion-way  of  a  ship. 
They  clutched  at  the  hand-rail,  but  it  dropped  out  of  their  hands. 
They  took  one  further  step  and  fell  into  a  pit  of  ruin,  the  stair 
having  vanished. 

One  man  who  ran  out  into  the  road  received  his  first  realisation 
of  the  nature  of  the  calamity  by  happening  upon  the  body  of  a 
woman  cut  nearly  in  two  by  a  sheet  of  corrugated  iron,  the  sharp 
edge  of  which  had  fallen  upon  her  like  a  hatchet. 

In  the  streets,  filled  as  they  were  with  a  yellow  fog  of  dust,  the 
scene  was  paralysing  and  uninterpretable.  On  all  sides  was  the 
cannonading  of  crumbling  houses  :  bricks  came  down  like  rain  ; 
walls  were  rent  as  if  made  of  paper ;  the  great  timbers  of  a  floor 
snapped  like  a  bundle  of  sticks  ;  telegraph  poles  swayed  as  reeds 
in  a  wind.  Negroes  blubbering  with  panic  were  filling  the  waste 
with  howls  and  groans  ;  men,  hatless,  coatless,  smothered  with 
dust   and    streaming   with    blood,    moved    aimlessly   to   and    fro. 


288       THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP 

Amonpf  the  turmoil  a  stupefied  man  stood  alone,  carefully  brush- 
ing a  little  mortar  from  his  hat.  Now  and  then  a  strong  voice 
would  call  out  steadily,  "  Look  out  for  that  wall !  "  or  "  Keep  clear 
of  the  wires  !  " 

Men,  trying  to  escape  by  streets  they  no  longer  knew,  scram- 
bled over  heaps  of  stones,  as  shipwrecked  mariners  climb  over 
rocks.  They  stumbled  across  dead  horses  and  men  and  the 
poured  out  contents  of  shops,  found  themselves  trapped  in 
entanglements  of  wire,  clung  to  by  lost  children  or  trampled  upon 
by  other  frantic  folk  who  were  tearing  to  the  open. 

Many  a  heap  of  dust  could  be  seen  to  move,  for  beneath  it  was 
a  living  man.  More  than  one  poor  wretch,  buried  to  the  waist 
among  the  ruins,  was  held  there  until  the  fire  swept  down  upon 
him  and  silenced  his  yells.  If  there  came  a  lull  it  was  broken  by 
a  fresh  shaking  of  the  earth  and  the  renewed  terror  of  riven  walls 
and  clattering  stones. 

In  twenty  minutes  the  town  was  ablaze,  so  that,  as  the  night 
fell,  the  scene  closed  with  the  glare  of  fire  and  the  roar  of 
on-rushing  flames. 


-     J) 

Z    < 


LVII. 

ADMIRAL  JOHN   BEN  BOW. 

In  the  old  Parish  Church  of  Kingston  there  Hes  buried  Admiral 
John  Benbow.  His  grave,  near  by  the  chancel  rails,  is  covered 
with  a  large  black  stone,  embellished  with  a  coat  of  arms.  At 
the  time  of  my  visit  this  stone  was  hidden  by  the  wreckage  of  the 
earthquake,  but  it  was  not  difficult  to  find  an  unemployed  negro 
who,  with  some  little  labour,  laid  it  bare.  The  stone  presents  the 
following  unpunctuated  inscription  : 

Here  lyeth  Interred  the 

Body  of  Iohn  Benbow 

Esq    Admiral  of  the  White 

A  TRUE  Pattern  of  English 

Courage  who  Lost  his  life 

In  Defence  of  His  Queene 

AND  Country  November  ye  4™ 

1702      In   the    52"°    YEAR  OF 

His  Age  by  a  wound  of  his  Legg 

Receiud  in  an  Engagement 

with  Mons'^  Du  Casse  Being 

Much  Lamented. 

The  circumstance  under  which  this  admiral  of  the  White 
received  the  "  wound  of  his  legg  "  belongs  to  "  the  story  of  one  of 
the  most  painful  and  disgraceful  episodes  in  the  history  of  the 
British  Navy." '  The  British  and  the  French  were,  as  was  not 
unusual,  at  war.  The  campaign  was  that  same  war  of  the  Spanish 
Succession  which  is  associated  with  the  name  of  Marlborough,  and 
with  the  famous  battles  of  Blenheim  and  Ramillics.  licnbow 
found  himself  opposed  in  the  West  Indies  by  a  French  fleet  under 

'  The  Royal  Navy,  by  Sir  William  Laird  Clowes,  vol.  ii.  page  372:  London,  1897. 

U 


290 


THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 


the  command  of  Admiral  Du  Casse.  The  British  battleships  were 
collected  together  at  Port  Royal,  and  on  July  11,  1702,  the 
admiral  set  sail  from  that  port  in  search  of  the  enemy.  He  came 
up  with  the  French  on  August  19,  off  Santa  Marta,  a  cape  on  the 
Spanish  Main  between  La  Hache  and  Cartagena.  The  English 
mail  steamers  pass  close  to  this  point  of  land  and  through  the 
very  waters  which  were  the  scene  of  the  engagement. 

The  French  force  consisted  of  five  line-of-battle  ships  and  four 
smaller  craft.  The  composition  of  the  English  fleet  is  of  some 
interest  in  view  of  what  happened. 

Ship.  Guns.  Commander. 

Breda          .  ,  70  Benbow, 

Defiance     .  .  64  Kirkby. 

Windsor     .  .  60  Constable. 

Greenwich  .  54  Wade. 

Pendennis  .  .  48  Hudson. 

Falmouth  .  .  not  stated  Vincent. 

Ruby          .  .  „        „  Walton. 


The  fight  began  on  August  21.  It  was  a  remarkable  engage- 
ment, a  running  fight  which  was  maintained  for  no  less  than  four 
days,  in  which  the  Breda  was  practically  left  alone  to  do  battle  in 
the  "defence  of  her  Queene  and  country."  The  captains  of  the 
leading  English  vessels  declined  to  come  into  touch  with  the 
French.  In  spite  of  urgent  orders  from  the  flagship  they 
remained  aloof  Although  thus  meanly  deserted  John  Benbow 
fought  on  with  bulldog  obstinacy.  He  pounded  away  until  his 
cannon  were  nearly  red  hot.  He  hung  on  to  the  enemy  until 
spar  after  spar  was  carried  away,  until  his  sails  were  in  holes,  and 
his  bulwarks  jagged  like  a  saw's  edge.  He  would  hear  of  no 
giving  in,  although  his  men  were  dropping  from  fatigue  and 
although  the  carpenter  continued  to  report  a  rising  of  water  in  the 
hold. 

During  the  darkness  of  the  night  of  the  23rd  he  was  busy 
trying  to  repair  some  of  the  damage  done,  but  as  soon  as  there 
was  light  enough  in  the    morning  he  was  at   the  French    again. 


ADMIRAL   JOHN   BENBOW.  291 

The  cannonading  had  not  long  begun  when  the  admiral's  right  leg 
was  smashed  by  a  chain-shot,  and  he  was  carried  unconscious  to 
his  cabin.  When  he  came  to  himself,  he  ordered  his  cot  to  be 
brought  up  the  companion-way  and  placed  on  the  quarter-deck, 
and  here,  from  his  bed,  he  gave  orders  for  the  fighting  to  be 
pressed  on  with  to  the  end. 

The  end  soon  came.  The  odds  were  hopeless.  The  Breda, 
deserted  by  her  consorts,  was  so  fearfully  mauled  as  to  be  almost 
a  wreck,  and  it  seemed  doubtful  if  she  had  yards  and  sails  enough 
left  to  carry  her  back  to  port.  The  admiral  at  last  gave  the  order 
to  retire  to  Port  Royal,  and  sullenly  withdrew  from  the  enemy's 
fire. 

It  was  a  memorable  episode  ;  the  Breda,  splintered  and  torn, 
creeping  away  to  the  north  slowly,  like  a  grievously  wounded  man 
who  will  not  own  that  he  is  beaten.  Behind  were  the  French 
shouting  with  derision.  Far  away  on  the  horizon  were  the  craven 
British  ships  slinking  home  like  a  pack  of  whipped  curs.  On  the 
deck  of  the  Breda  was  the  admiral,  lying  on  his  cot,  white  with 
loss  of  blood,  almost  blind  from  shock,  but  still  able  to  curse  the 
French,  to  curse  his  captains,  and  above  all  to  curse  the  chain-shot 
that  had  prevented  him  from  keeping  on  with  the  fight.  Still 
flying  above  him,  at  the  masthead  of  the  Breda,  was  the  order  for 
a  general  attack,  a  command  to  which  only  the  gallant  Ruby  had 
responded. 

The  Breda  reached  Kingston  Harbour  in  the  course  of  time, 
and  there  the  wounded  admiral  was  taken  ashore.  The  leg  was 
amputated.  There  is  little  doubt  but  that  septicaemia  super- 
vened and  that  it  involved  a  long  and  distressing  illness,  for  the 
obstinate  old  fighter  did  not  die  until  November  4,  seventy-two 
days  after  the  wound  had  been  received. 

As  he  fought  alone,  so  he  seems  to  have  lived  alone,  for  he  was 
an  unlovable  man.  He  is  described  as  rough  and  off-hand  in  his 
manner,  very  ready  to  bully  his  subordinates,  and  very  unready  to 
make  friends  of  those  who  chanced  to  be  his  shipmates. 

On  October  8,  1702,  Captains  Kirkby,  Constable,  and  Wade 
were    tried    by    court-martial    on    the    charges    of  "cowardice, 

O  2 


292  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

disobedience  to  orders,  and  neglect  of  duty."  Hudson,  of  the 
Pendennis,  would  have  been  indicted  with  the  other  prisoners,  but 
he  died  before  the  court  commenced.  Vincent,  of  the  Falmouth, 
was  put  on  his  trial  for  minor  offences,  more  or  less  discreditable. 
The  only  officer  of  the  fleet  who  came  out  of  this  affair  with 
other  than  disgrace  was  George  Walton,  the  loyal  captain  of  the 
Ruby. 

As  a  result  of  the  court-martial,  Kirkby  and  Wade  were 
sentenced  to  death,  and  were  shot  at  Plymouth.  Constable  was 
cashiered,  and  thrown  into  prison,  where  shortly  after  he  died. 
Vincent  was  suspended.  Walton  was  probably  forgotten.  So 
ended  a  miserable  business,  which  has  happily  no  parallel  in  the 
glorious  annals  of  the  British  Navy. 


PORT     KUVAL. 
End  of  Chapel  wrecked  bj'  Earthquake. 


VOKi     CHAKLi:s.     roUT     KOVAL. 


LVIII. 

PORT   ROYAL   AS   IT   WAS. 

Beautiful  indeed  in  its  setting  is  the  little  sea  town  of  Port 
Royal.  It  stands  far  away  from  the  land,  a  speck  on  the  deep,  at 
the  very  mouth  of  Kingston  Harbour.  This  may  not  seem  to  be 
a  long  way  off,  but  then  Kingston  Harbour  is  so  wide  from  shore 
to  shore  as  to  be  almost  an  inland  sea.  Or  rather  may  it  be  com- 
pared to  the  haze-environed  Venetian  lagoon,  which  it  resembles 
in  its  stillness  and  in  the  curious  lantern-lit  posts  which  mark  the 
shoal-water  channel.  Rowing  out  along  that  channel  recalls  the 
lazy  passage  from  Venice  to  Torcello.  The  names  of  the  points 
that  the  boat  idles  by  are  not  so  sweet-sounding  perhaps,  since 
such  titles  as  Devil's  Cay,  Hulk  Hole  and  Gallows  Point  lack  the 
graciousness  of  those  waterways  which  lead  to  the  Bridge  of  Sighs. 
The  gorilla-faced  negro,  moreover,  who  grins  at  the  oars  is  a  sorry 
substitute  for  the  gondolier. 

The  town  in  question  is  attached  to  Jamaica  by  a  curved  line 
of  low  land,  some  eight  miles  long,  a  mere  thread  of  the  solid 
earth  lying  in  the  blue  sea  as  the  sickle  of  a  new  moon  swims  in  the 
sky.  It  is  a  thin  crescent  of  malachite  green  edged  with  a  rim  of 
old  gold.  The  green  is  a  medley  of  bushes  and  palms,  the  margin 
of  gold  is  a  sandy  beach.  The  palms  half-way  out  in  the  lagoon 
are  marshalled  in  an  orderly  row,  like  stakes  in  a  flooded  meadow, 
and  thus  it  is  that  the  far- venturing  breakwater  is  called  the 
Palisades. 

At  the  very  end  of  the  curve  is  the  little  round  town  of  Port 
Royal,  like  the  eye  of  a  peacock's  feather  on  the  tip  of  a  plume. 
So  flimsy  is  the  line  of  the  Palisades  that  Port  Royal,  when  viewed 
from  Kingston,  may  be  an  island  whose  connection  with  the  main- 


294  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

land  has  been  well-nigh  dissolved  into  the  deep.  Indeed,  when 
the  sun  is  at  high  noon  and  there  is  a  glamour  on  the  sea  the  grey 
walls  and  pointed  trees  that  mark  the  spot  become  so  unsubstantial 
in  the  blinding  light  that  they  seem  to  belong  to  the  air-borne 
city  of  a  mirage. 

On  the  day  of  my  visit  there  was  just  such  a  brilliant  calm  as 
Michael  Scott  has  described,  when  "  the  anchorage  was  one  un- 
broken mirror,  and  the  reflection  of  the  vessel  was  so  clear  and 
steady  that  at  the  distance  of  a  cable's  length  you  could  not 
distinguish  the  water-line,  nor  tell  where  the  substance  ended  and 
the  shadow  began,  until  the  casual  dashing  of  a  bucket  overboard 
for  a  few  moments  broke  up  the  phantom  ship  ;  but  the  wavering 
fragments  soon  reunited,  and  she  again  floated  double."  ^ 

On  the  land  side  of  the  harbour  is  the  generous  green  plain 
upon  which  Kingston  stands,  a  plain  rich  in  trees,  as  gentle  to 
look  at  as  an  English  water-meadow,  yet  undermined  with  treachery 
and  despair  as  befits  the  plain  of  the  City  of  Destruction.  Beyond 
the  flat  are  the  hills,  and  yet  farther  away  the  imperious  sweep 
of  the  Blue  Mountains — gentian-blue  where  they  meet  the  clouds, 
fustian-brown  where  they  spurn  the  earth.  They  form  the  walls 
of  that  heartless  amphitheatre,  the  stepped  slopes  of  that 
Coliseum  which  looked  down  upon  the  arena  where  40,000  human 
beings  have  just  battled  with  Death. 

Port  Royal  in  Stuart  times,  when  the  pirates  came  there,  was — 
in  electrical  parlance — a  "  live"  town.  It  had  the  credit  of  being 
the  wickedest  spot  on  earth  within  the  knowledge  of  civilised  men. 
Its  reputation  in  this  particular  was  unassailable.  Whatever  was 
pre-eminent  in  iniquity — especially  in  the  department  of  riotous 
living — that  Port  Royal  was  the  master  of  The  fervent  mission- 
ary could  have  found  no  richer  "field  of  work"  than  was  presented 
by  this  unholy  place.  Any  advocate  of  temperance  who  was 
eager  to  snatch  brands  from  the  burning  would  have  found  here 
luxuriant  material.  Cities  famous  for  depravity  are  commonly 
described  either  as  "sinks  of  iniquity"  or  as  "hot-beds  of  crime." 
Port  Royal  was  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.     Its  wickedness  was 

'   Tom  Cringle's  Log. 


PORT   ROYAL   AS    IT    WAS.  295 

flamboyant,  defiant  and  unabashed,  with,  it  must  be  owned,  a 
touch  of  picturesqueness  about  it.  It  covered  the  once  dull  fisher 
town  with  a  blaze  of  scarlet,  just  as  the  tropical  Bougainvillea 
will  rollick  over  a  homely  tree,  until  it  has  hidden  the  prudish 
boughs  to  the  very  summit  beneath  the  mantle  of  its  crimson 
leaves. 

This  reckless  settlement  might  have  been  present  in  the  minds 
of  the  devout  men  who  wrote  the  Litany  in  the  Book  of  Common 
Prayer,  since  they  have  so  precisely  enumerated  its  particular 
faults  and  failings.  It  must  needs  have  owned,  for  example,  to 
a  general  knowledge  of  "  all  evil  and  mischief,"  as  well  as  to  an 
acquaintance  with  the  "  crafts  and  assaults  of  the  devil."  It  could 
claim  to  be  familiar  not  only  with  "  battle,  murder  and  sudden 
death,"  but  also  with  "  plague,  pestilence  and  famine."  It  had 
experienced  the  ills  of  "  lightning  and  tempest,"  and  had  suffered 
not  a  little  from  "  sedition,  privy  conspiracy  and  rebellion."  Two 
charges,  on  the  other  hand,  it  would  certainly  have  repudiated, 
those,  namely,  of  "  hypocrisy  "  and  "  all  uncharitableness." 

Port  Royal  must  have  been  a  stirring  spot  for  a  number  of 
years,  and  especially  during  the  latter  half  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  It  was  girt  about  by  a  wall  with  many  a  sally-port  in  it, 
while  upon  its  point  rose  a  grey  lighthouse.  It  had  wide  quays, 
whereon  were  often  to  be  seen  piled-up  bales  and  kegs,  sacks 
crammed  with  spices  and  boxes  full  of  pieces  of  eight,  the  same 
being  guarded  by  mahogany-coloured  men  with  cutlasses  and 
with  such  truculent  looks  as  would  alone  have  daunted  the  very 
emissaries  of  Satan. 

There  were  ample  creeks  too  for  careening  ships  and  a  "  hard  " 
for  the  boats  as  handy  as  that  at  Portsmouth.  Here  would  be  drawn 
up  craft  of  all  kinds,  whale-boats  and  jolly-boats,  boats  stolen  from 
Spanish  merchantmen,  native  canoas  and  weather-worn  Plymouth 
wherries.  Around  them  would  be  loitering  listless  men,  lean  and 
in  rags,  prisoners  from  the  Main,  who  muttered  together  in  the 
hated  speech  of  Spain.  They  would  be  watched  by  a  contented 
coxswain  who,  lying  half  asleep  in  the  sun,  with  his  back  against 
a  wall,  would   heave   a   stone   at   them    occasionally  when    their 


296  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

jabber  jarred  on  his  reverie.  Conspicuous  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
port,  and  standing  high  upon  a  spit  of  green,  was  a  gallows  with 
a  few  festering  bodies  dangling  from  it. 

Houses  of  all  shapes  and  heights  crowded  together  along  the 
narrow  streets  of  the  town.  Some  were  mere  huts  thatched  with 
palm  leaves  ;  others  were  of  wood  with  seaward-looking  balconies  ; 
many  were  built  of  stone  with  turrets  or  bright-tiled  roofs. 
There  were  churches  too  in  the  place  and  warehouses,  a  fort  and 
the  lines  of  a  military  barrack,  ship-chandlers'  shops  in  great 
abundance  smelling  of  tarred  rope,  and  shops  full  of  tawdry 
jewelry,  mostly  ear-rings  and  finger-rings,  with  silks  and  mantillas 
destined  for  lasses  in  Devon,  together  with  strange  birds  in  cages 
and  a  stuffed  alligator  or  two. 

Slaves  trundling  casks  along  the  cobbled  road  would  be 
brought  to  a  stop  by  a  hatless  mariner  lying  full  length  in  the 
path,  with  no  sign  of  life  in  him  beyond  an  occasional  bubble  of 
unintelligible  speech  that  issued  from  his  baggy  lips.  Now  and 
then  a  string  of  purple-faced  revellers  would  lurch  by,  arm  in  arm, 
rolling  to  and  fro  like  linked  beacons  in  a  choppy  sea,  bellowing 
as  they  went  the  refrain  of  a  ballad  learnt  ten  years  ago  in 
England.  In  a  by- lane  might  be  seen  a  Jew  haggling  with  a 
sailor  over  the  price  of  a  crucifix,  and  in  a  dark  corner,  near  by, 
the  lank  corpse  of  a  man  who  had  died  of  yellow  fever. 

From  the  taverns  would  issue  a  cloud  of  brandy-tainted  smoke 
and  the  roar  of  hurricane  voices,  blended  with  the  clatter  of 
tankards,  the  chink  of  money  and  the  occasional  crash  of  a  fist 
falling  on  a  table.  From  other  houses  may  come  the  sound  of  a 
fiddle  and  of  men  dancing  in  heavy  boots.  In  the  shadows  of 
the  gambling  shanties  sailors  would  be  throwing  dice  or  playing  at 
Red  and  White  in  an  ominous  silence.  It  was  a  silence  that  was 
apt  to  be  broken  by  shouts  and  snarling,  or  even  by  a  pistol  shot, 
or  by  the  noise  of  a  man  stumbling  out  into  the  daylight  coughing 
up  blood. 

It  was  probably  in  the  cabins  of  ships  in  the  anchorage,  rather 
than  in  the  town,  that  the  serious  business  of  Port  Royal  was 
transacted.     Imagine  such  a  cabin  at  night  about  the  time  of  the 


PORT    ROYAL   AS    IT   WAS.  297 

middle  watch,  a  low,  stifling  cuddy  with  smoke-blackened  beams. 
A  sail  has  been  drawn  over  the  skylight  as  a  guard  against 
prying  eyes.  The  room  is  lit  by  a  guttering  tallow  candle  stuck 
in  an  altar  candlestick.  It  throws  its  light  upon  a  chart  on  the 
table,  over  which  some  half-dozen  men  are  leaning.  It  casts 
awful  shadows  of  their  mighty  shoulders  and  of  their  battered 
hats  upon  the  panelled  walls,  upon  the  shelves  where  gleam  silver- 
mounted  pistols,  upon  the  half-opened  locker  stuffed  with  loot 
and  odd  gear,  together  with  the  portrait  of  a  wife  at  home  and  the 
withered  bunch  of  holly  she  hung  up  in  the  cabin  when  the  ship 
left  Plymouth  one  Christmas  Day.  A  cage  with  a  parrot  hangs 
somewhere  in  the  gloom,  for  out  of  the  dark  there  comes,  now  and 
then,  a  cheery  and  inconsequent  shriek  of  profanity. 

The  captain,  a  man  in  a  brocaded  coat,  is  tracing  a  course  on 
the  chart  with  the  point  of  a  dagger.  His  neighbour  follows  it 
with  a  pipe-stem,  but  a  third  man,  who  keeps  his  mutilated  and 
thumbless  hand  on  the  paper,  insists  on  an  alternative  route  which 
he  indicates  with  the  stump  of  his  one  remaining  finger. 

The  yellow  light  falls  on  their  faces,  so  that  their  features 
show  up  as  luminous  points  in  the  mirk,  like  prominent  parts  of 
a  grotesque  carving,  the  bridge  of  a  nose,  a  scarred  cheek,  a  lined 
forehead  with  a  lock  of  hair  hanging  over  it,  a  bared  throat.  The 
eyes  of  the  chart  readers,  their  heavy  moustaches  and  shaggy 
beards,  are  all  lost  in  the  mysterious  shadow. 

They  are  deep  over  a  scheme  for  a  raid  on  the  Main  ;  they 
argue  and  wrangle  in  hot  whispers,  until  the  captain's  clenched 
fist  comes  down  on  the  paper  with  a  concluding  thud.  The  last 
troubled  point  they  decide  by  a  throw  of  the  dice,  and  then,  stand- 
ing up,  they  stretch  their  shoulders,  shake  hands  solemnly,  and  yell 
up  the  stair  for  a  cannikin  of  hot  rum. 

Such  was  Port  Royal  when  it  was  shaken  into  ruins  by  the 
fearful  earthquake  of  1692,  when  the  indignant  sea  rose  and  swept 
down  upon  it  with  revengeful  waves,  when  white-crested  combers 
bellowed  along  the  polluted  streets,  broke  through  the  tavern 
doors,  overturned  the  tables  of  the  money-changers,  and  swept  the 
whole  fabric  of  iniquity  into  the  eddying  and  relentless  deep. 


298  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 


LIX. 

PORT   ROYAL   AS   IT   IS. 

The  Port  Royal  of  to-day  is  a  small,  bright  place,  brilliant  with 
many  trees,  trim  lawns  and  white  walls,  yet  possessed  with  a 
certain  air  of  melancholy  as  of  a  spot  which  has  been  deserted  and 
forgotten. 

It  is  divided  into  two  parts — the  official  quarter  on  the  point 
of  land,  and  the  town  which  stands  deferentially  behind  it,  where 
Port  Royal  joins  the  Palisades.  The  importance  of  Port  Royal 
as  a  naval  and  military  station  is  now  so  small  that  the  navy  has 
abandoned  it,  while  the  army  clings  to  the  place  more,  it  would 
seem,  for  the  sake  of  old  memories  than  for  any  tactical  reason 

The  official  quarter  is  very  orderly  and  neat  with  a  good  deal 
of  the  drear  severity  of  the  barrack  square  about  it,  the  same 
being,  however,  relieved  by  leisurely  palm  trees,  by  pretty  gardens 
around  the  officers'  houses,  and  by  that  outbreak  of  irresponsible 
green  which  will  assert  itself  in  the  tropics. 

The  earthquake  has  wrought  woeful  damage  in  the  place. 
A  number  of  the  stolid,  stand-at-attention  war  office  buildings 
have  tumbled  to  the  ground,  while  others  are  leaning  over  with 
all  the  recklessness  of  a  drunken  man  on  parade.  There  are 
gaping  fissures  in  austere,  official  squares,  as  if  the  earth  were 
yawning  disrespectfully  ;  concrete  walls  and  floors  have  been 
cracked  like  eggshells.  The  little  ammunition  railway  seems 
to  have  taken  fright,  for  it  wriggles  about  like  a  fleeing  snake, 
while  at  one  place  its  rails  have  leapt  desperately  into  the  air, 
carrying  their  sleepers  with  them.  Rigid  and  well-disciplined 
paths  roll  up  and  down  with  the  exuberance  of  a  switchback 
at     a    fair.     The    immaculate    flag-staff    is    heeling    over     like 


FORT  CHARLES,  PORT  ROYAL. 

Entrance  to  Nelson's  Quarters. 


PORT   ROYAL   AS    IT    IS.  299 

a  sentinel  asleep,  and  a  guard-room,  which  should  be  a  model 
of  propriety,  shows  a  wide  gaping  door  which  appears  to  be 
grinning  with  laughter. 

The  very  apex  of  the  spit  of  land  has  sunk  into  the  deep, 
so  that  out  at  sea  the  ragged  heads  of  palm  trees  can  be  seen 
just  projecting  above  the  water,  as  if  they  had  gone  a-bathing. 
In  the  sea,  but  nearer  to  what  remains  of  the  land,  are  iron 
railings,  landing  stages  and  melancholy  sheds,  which,  being  more 
or  less  submerged,  look  as  if  they  had  attempted  to  drown  them- 
selves when  the  panic  seized  them.  One  substantial  barrack 
is  quite  sound  in  appearance  when  viewed  from  the  outside, 
but  within  it  is  a  mass  of  ruin,  every  ceiling  and  partition  having 
been  shaken  down  just  as  if  it  had  suffered — as  indeed  it  had — 
from  a  fearful  rigor.  The  new  fort,  the  indestructible  precipice- 
walled  fort,  has  been  tumbled  about  ignominiously ;  its  massive 
masonry  is  cracked  like  a  potsherd,  while  the  whole  fabric  is 
so  much  askew  that  it  looks  as  if  seen  through  a  distorting 
mirror. 

The  saddest  wreck  is  that  of  the  grand  old  Naval  Hospital, 
a  good-natured,  comforting,  motherly  building,  standing  in 
a  mature  garden  as  like  an  English  garden  as  the  handy  man 
could  make  it.  This  kindly  hostel,  rich  in  tender  associations, 
has  been  damaged  grievously  by  the  sinking  of  its  foundations. 

Nearer  to  the  Palisades  is  the  Naval  Yard,  a  fascinating 
and  picturesque  place,  breezy  and  sailor-like,  and  full  of  those 
quarter-deck  fancies  without  which  no  mariner,  it  would  seem, 
can  abide  the  land.  Here  are  fine,  echoing  store-houses  for 
ropes  and  blocks,  buildings  with  ample  grey  roofs  and  the  green 
dormer  windows  of  a  pilot's  cottage,  sail  lofts  and  hammock  lofts, 
stiffly  disposed  guns,  a  white  flag-staff  of  course,  a  lawn  such  as 
Drake  may  have  played  bowls  on,  with  the  figure-head  of  an 
old  wooden  ship  at  each  corner  of  it,  rusty  anchors,  a  boat  slip, 
weedy  and  damp,  with  only  a  windlass  and  a  heap  of  chain  to 
keep  it  company. 

It  is  all  very  salt  and  hearty,  but  the  great  sheds — once  full 
of  casks,   sea  chests,   spars    and    tackle,  and    once  reverberating 


300  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

with  the  shouts  of  men  fitting  out  for  home — are  now  empty  and 
silent.  The  tide  still  rises  and  falls  on  the  steps.  It  dallies  over 
the  stones,  whispering  like  a  siren.  The  tempting  breeze  steals 
through  the  bare  sail  lofts,  as  if  it  were  a  blind  thing  searching 
with  outstretched  hands.  The  far-away  sea  flashes  its  lure  of 
blue  in  the  sun,  but  there  is  no  response  :  no  boat  puts  out  from 
the  quay,  nor  is  there  heard  the  answer  to  the  call — the  rhyme 
of  twelve  swinging  oars  chanting  in  their  rowlocks. 

Probably  the  most  interesting  relic  in  Port  Royal  is  Fort 
Charles,  erected  in  the  reign  of  Charles  H,  It  is  a  stiff  old 
veteran  of  a  fort,  built  for  the  most  part  of  sun-faded  bricks.  A 
ramp  leads  up  to  the  main  gateway,  over  which  is  a  regal  coat  of 
arms.  Inside  the  stronghold,  and  secluded  from  the  world  by  the 
ponderous  wall,  are  some  officers'  quarters  and  a  paved  court. 
This  court  is  so  white  that  when  the  sun  falls  upon  it,  it  is 
dazzling  almost  to  blindness,  while  the  shadows  of  the  battlements 
on  its  flags  are  as  black  as  ebony.  Around  it  is  disposed  a  quaint 
flower  garden  of  such  simplicity  as  would  befit  the  courtyard  of 
a  monastery.  Flowers  of  many  colours,  scarlet,  yellow  and  blue, 
give  a  daintiness  to  the  place  which  is  unlooked  for  in  a  bastion ; 
green  weeds  crop  up  among  the  stones,  creepers  loll  over  the  wall 
and  drop  down  on  the  other  side,  while  more  than  one  of  the  gun 
embrasures  are  hidden  by  bushes.  It  appears  to  be  a  favourit'^' 
haunt  of  birds.  Many  green  lizards,  too,  flit  over  the  coral- 
coloured  brick  walls,  stopping  abruptly  now  and  then  as  if  they 
were  listening  to  sounds  inaudible  to  men. 

On  one  wall  bounding  the  courtyard  is  a  marble  tablet  with 
this  inscription : 

In  this  place 

Dwelt 

HORATIO    NELSON 

You  WHO  TREAD  HIS   FOOTPRINTS 

Remember  his  glory. 

In  a  corner  of  the  place  is  an  old  guard-room  with  heavy 
beams  in  the  ceiling.  A  little  stair  opens  out  of  it  upon  a  paved 
platform  which  runs  just  within  the  seaward  parapet.     This  stone 


PORT    ROYAL   AS    IT    IS.  301 

walk  IS  called  "  Nelson's  quarter-deck,"  for  here  he  paced  to  and 
fro,  watching  for  the  French  fleet  which  was  hourly  expected  to 
attack  Port  Royal.  It  was  in  1779  when  Nelson  was  in  command 
of  Fort  Charles.  He  was  then  just  twenty-one  years  of  age. 
The  time  was  one  of  great  anxiety  in  Jamaica,  as  the  enemy's 
fleet  was  reported  to  be  of  immense  strength,  while  the  garrison 
holding  this  outpost  was  by  comparison  insignificant.^  In  one 
angle  of  the  fort  is  a  little  shy  entry  or  sally-port,  leading  to  a 
stone  stair.  Over  the  arch  of  the  gateway  are  the  arms  of  the 
great  admiral  painted  in  sumptuous  colours.  This  is  the  stair 
which  led  to  Nelson's  quarters. 

Nelson  had  a  later  experience  of  Port  Royal.  He  returned 
here  in  1780,  after  the  San  Juan  River  expedition,  so  prostrated  by 
dysentery  that  he  had  to  be  carried  ashore  in  his  cot.  He  was 
taken  to  the  lodging  of  a  negress  named  Cuba  Cornwallis.  The 
praenomen  "  Cuba  "  indicated  the  market  from  whence  she  came 
(just  as  one  would  speak  of  Ceylon  tea)  ;  the  title  "  Cornwallis  " 
was  added  when  she  received  her  freedom  from  slavery  at  the 
hands  of  the  admiral  of  that  name.  She  was  a  nurse  with  a  great 
reputation,  a  clever  and  kindly  old  soul,  who  kept  what  would  be 
now  called  a  nursing  home,  for  she  had  had  many  officers  under 
her  care. 

This  gracious  flower-bedecked  fortress  is  the  last  survivor  of 
the  Port  Royal  of  ancient  days.  It  has  seen  the  town  at  the 
height  of  its  tawdry  glory  ;  has  seen  it  slink  back  again  to  the 
homely  fisher  village.  It  has  heard  the  clamour  of  revelry  rise 
above  the  bustling  streets.  It  has  heard  the  volley  of  guns  that 
welcomed  the  captive  plate  ships  from  the  Main,  as  well  as  the 
tolling  of  the  chapel  bell  for  many  a  thousand  of  dead  men. 
Under  the  shelter  of  its  walls  pirates  have  plotted  at  night,  while 
possibly  in  its  mess  room  Morgan  the  buccaneer,  red  and 
boisterous,  has  called  for  "a  health  to  the  King."  Unmoved, 
unscathed  it  passed  through  the  hideous  earthquake  of  1692,  when 
the  whole  of  the  town  around  it  was  buried  in  ruin.  Unmoved  it 
has  witnessed  the  great  catastrophe  of  1907,  for  while  the  mighty 

'  The  attack  by  the  French  was  never  made. 


302  THE   CRADLE    OF   THE   DEEP. 

forts  which  have  supplanted  it  were  crumpled  up  like  a  child's 
castle  on  the  sands,  this  genial  old  place  of  many  memories  has 
been  left  undisturbed.' 

Of  the  town  of  Port  Royal — the  pirates'  Babylon — there  is 
practically  no  trace  remaining.  In  its  place  stands  a  village  of 
narrow  streets,  shaded  by  picturesque  grey  houses  of  wood. 
Some  have  spacious  balconies  and  verandahs,  while  not  a  few  are 
decorated  by  handsome  carvings  after  the  old  manner — the  work 
of  men  who  graved  the  figure-heads  of  ships.  There  are  many 
tiny  yards  and  gardens,  as  well  as  paved  alleys,  which  seem  to 
withdraw  themselves  from  the  gaze  of  men.  Brown  nets  hanging 
along  a  paling,  and  a  pair  of  mariner's  trousers  asprawl  in  the  sun 
on  a  hibiscus  bush,  suggest  that  some  at  least  of  the  inhabitants 
follow  the  calling  of  fishermen.  The  rest  appear  to  be  living  in 
what  is  called  "  close  retirement."  It  is  a  faded,  disconsolate 
townlet,  respectable  almost  to  melancholy.  If  it  has  been  too  full 
of  "evil  and  mischief"  in  the  past,  it  is  now  certainly  repenting  in 
dust  and  ashes. 

It  still  possesses  a  beautiful  old  court-house,  the  insigne  of  its 
better  days.  The  quaint  building  has  an  arcade  on  either  side  of 
it,  and  a  roof  covered  with  shingles.  The  earthquake  has  shaken 
down  the  front  wall,  thereby  revealing  a  curved  staircase  of  great 
solemnity,  fashioned  in  dark  wood,  which  mounts  to  a  landing, 
where  are  sober  official  doors  which  have  been  unceremoniously 
thrown  wide  open. 

'  The  only  effect  of  the  recent  earthquake  was  a  slight  crack  in  one  of  its  walls. 


LX. 

TOM    BOWLING'S    CHANTRY. 

The  most  human  building  in  the  town  of  Port  Royal  is  the  old 
church.  Viewed  from  the  outside  it  is  small,  insignificant  and 
ugly,  being  little  more  than  a  cube  of  plaster  standing  in  a 
disintegrated  graveyard.  Its  outward  ugliness  is  due  to  the  fact 
that  it  has  been  "  restored,"  and  that  the  work  has  been  done  with 
as  much  ruthlessness  as  if  it  had  been  a  fourteenth-century  church 
in  England.  A  tablet  announces  that  it  was  rebuilt  in  the  years 
1725-6. 

Within  it  is  happily  but  little  disturbed,  owing,  it  may  be 
supposed,  to  a  fortunate  lack  of  funds.  Still  left  standing  are  the 
old-fashioned  pews  and  benches  where  many  generations  of  sailor 
men,  "  grummets "  and  "  younkers,"  have  sat  and  prayed  to  be 
preserved  "  from  the  dangers  of  the  sea  and  from  the  violence  of 
the  enemy."  At  one  end  is  a  grand  wooden  singing  gallery,  held 
up  by  stout  pillars.  Its  front  is  very  elaborately  and  strangely 
carved  in  the  Spanish  style,  the  surface  of  the  work  being  toned 
down  by  age  to  a  rich  port-wine  colour.  The  walls  are  covered 
with  memorials  and  tablets  of  every  type  and  period.  They  tell 
one  ever-repeated  story — the  story  of  men  lost  in  gales  or  killed  in 
action,  of  men  who  sank  with  their  ships,  and  above  all  of  the  host 
who  were  sacrificed  as  a  tribute  to  the  Minotaur  of  yellow  fever. 
How  many  thousands  of  British  sailors  and  soldiers  lie  buried  in 
the  sands  around  Port  Royal  no  chronicle  can  tell.  Those  whose 
names  still  linger  on  the  walls  of  the  ancient  church  are  but  a 
mere  fraction  of  the  multitude. 

The  monuments  are  erected  by  widows,  by  old  shipmates, 
by  sisters  and  daughters.     There  is  one   to   three    little  middies 


304  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

who  died  of  yellow  fever  in  1820.  The  tablet  that  keeps  green 
the  memory  of  their  brief  lives  is  placed  in  the  church  by  their 
captain,  who  would  have  found  his  ship  grown  strangely  quiet 
after  the  three  small  coffins  were  taken  ashore.  There  is  a  memo- 
rial to  a  lieutenant  aged  forty-nine,  which  will  serve  to  show  how 
slow  promotion  might  be  half  a  century  ago.  It  is  to  a  certain 
Lieutenant  Bainbridge,  of  H.M.  schooner  Pickle,  who  perished  of 
yellow  fever  in  1846,  and  is  erected  by  his  shipmates.  Another 
tablet  tells  of  a  dismal  voyage  as  well  as  of  a  doctor  and  his 
patients.  It  reads  thus  : — "  Thomas  Graham,  M.D.,  and  sixteen 
seamen  of  H.M.  ship  Pantaloon,  who  died  of  fever  between  Belize 
and  Jamaica,  1847."  A  remarkable  monument  exists  to  the 
memory  of  Lieutenant  Stapleton,  who  was  killed  in  1754  by 
the  bursting  of  a  gun.  The  carving  in  white  marble  representing 
the  catastrophe  was  considered  by  many  to  be  an  achievement 
until  Froude  disposed  of  the  same  by  declaring  it  to  be  "  bad  art." 
Port  Royal  Church  is  the  church  of  the  sailor  of  bygone  days, 
the  seamen's  chantry  where  prayers  may  be  offered  for  the  peace 
of  their  restless  souls.  Among  the  many  inscriptions  upon  its 
walls  might  well  appear  the  opening  lines  of  Dibdin's  sea  song : 

"  Here,  a  sheer  hulk,  lies  poor  1 'cm  Bowling, 
The  darling  of  our  crew  ; 
No  more  he'll  hear  the  tempest  howling, 
For  death  has  broached  him  to." 

As  befits  a  sailors'  chapel  it  is  close  to  the  sea,  so  near  that  the 
sound  of  the  waves  on  the  beach  can  be  heard  any  service  time 
when  the  wind  is  southerly. 

What  a  muster  of  men  these  fateful  walls  have  seen  !  Here, 
in  the  best  pew,  stands  the  staid  captain,  "  in  a  coat  of  the  regular 
Rodney  cut,  broad  skirts,  long  waist  and  stand-up  collar ; "  his 
costume  being  completed  by  white  kerseymere  breeches  and 
long  boots  with  "  coal-scuttle  tops."  His  lips  never  move  through 
the  service.  He  opens  his  book  always  at  one  place,  never 
turning  a  leaf  It  is  the  place  in  the  volume  where  lies  a  book- 
marker made  by  a  daughter  long  years  dead  ;  for  the  old  man's 


TOM   BOWLING'S   CHANTRY.  305 

Sunday  service,  the  year  through,  consists  of  a  worshipful  com- 
munion with  memories  of  the  past. 

Here  too  is  the  mahogany-faced  bo'sun,  around  whose  visage 
is  a  fringe  of  hair  Hke  a  mane,  and  at  the  nape  of  whose  neck 
hangs  a  queue  which  might  be  made  of  a  rope's  end.  He  has 
a  voice  Hke  a  fog-horn,  a  reputation  for  musical  gifts  and  for 
great  powers  of  song.  He  will  never  begin  a  verse  of  a  hymn 
until  he  has  first  drawn  the  back  of  his  hand  across  his  mouth, 
as  if  he  were  about  to  take  a  satisfying  draught 

Then  there  are  the  middies,  looking  very  trim  as  becomes 
boys  fresh  from  home.  They  are  apt  to  be  pale-faced,  and  to 
seem  a  little  too  frail  for  the  giant-limbed  company  they  find 
themselves  among.  They  wear  dirks  by  their  sides,  and  carry 
in  their  hands  the  Prayer  Books  their  mothers  gave  them. 

The  body  of  the  congregation  is  made  up  of  a  rough  crowd  of 
reckless-looking,  masterful  men.  Most  of  them  wear  short 
jackets  and  white  trousers,  the  latter  being  maintained  in  place  by 
a  wisp  of  bunting  or  a  strip  of  sail  cloth.  Some  hold  shiny  black 
hats  in  their  fists,  while  most  of  them  drag  a  lock  of  hair  respect- 
fully over  their  foreheads  as  they  enter  the  aisle.  They  are  strong 
in  coloured  handkerchiefs,  in  large  ear-rings  and  in  ponderous 
boots.  They  are  shy  and  awkward  as  they  lurch  in  at  the  door, 
are  inclined  to  huddle  together,  and,  when  their  faces  are  hidden 
in  the  attitude  of  prayer,  surreptitious  jets  of  tobacco  juice  may  be 
heard  to  strike  the  boards.  Heads  come  close  together  under  the 
shelter  of  the  pew  wall ;  whisperings  may  at  times  be  exchanged, 
and  these  may  rise  into  angry  murmurs  or  even  to  sounds  of  open 
wrangling,  until  at  last  it  comes  to  be  known  that  two  of  the 
worshippers  are  rolling  on  the  floor,  fighting  like  hysnas  and 
nearly  bursting  the  panels  of  the  pew  with  their  backs.  They 
are  removed  with  as  much  decorum  as  the  circumstances  will 
permit,  and  the  subsequent  fight  in  the  graveyard  is  listened  to 
with  rapt  interest  and  much  nudging  of  elbows  by  a  critical 
congregation. 

Few  in  the  assembly  can  read,  but  all  can  sing,  and  sing  they 
do  till  the  windows  shake.     The  coxswain  waiting  by  the  boats 

X 


3o6  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

on  the  slip  must  many  a  time  have  had  the  quiet  of  his  watch 
broken  in  upon  by  the  roar  of  the  "  Old  Hundredth "  pouring 
forth  from  the  church  half  a  mile  away.  It  was  well  perhaps  that 
they  could  not  read,  for  there  was  ever  before  them  in  the  little 
church  the  dread  writing  on  the  wall,  a  script  which  told  of  far-off 
disaster  as  well  as  of  that  shadow  of  death  which  left,  Sunday 
after  Sunday,  ever-widening  gaps  in  the  benches. 

Let  it  be  hoped  that,  after  the  storm  and  stress  of  their  rugged 
lives,  they  all  found  at  last — as  did  Tom  Bowling — that  never 
clouded  land  of  "  pleasant  weather." 


LXI 

COLON. 

The  homeward  journey  commences  at  Jamaica,  being  made  in 
the  mail  steamer  which  comes  down  from  New  York.  The  ship 
travels  eastwards  along  the  Spanish  Main,  its  earliest  port  of  call 
being  Colon  on  the  Isthmus  of  Panama.  The  first  view  of  the 
famous  Spanish  Main  is  not  disappointing.  The  steamer  heads 
for  a  wide,  green  bay  of  many  creeks,  the  low  shores  of  which  are 
edged  by  cocoa-nut  palms.  In  the  background  is  a  far-reaching 
ridge  covered  with  jungle.  The  trees  upon  its  summit  stand  out 
against  the  skyline,  while  to  the  left  are  dim  mountains  of  great 
height,  the  western  end  of  the  Andes.  The  country  seems  so 
luxuriant  and  so  tempting  that  it  can  be  understood  why 
Columbus  the  Dreamer,  as  he  sailed  along  its  shores,  felt  assured 
that  he  had  come  upon  the  Land  of  Ophir  whence  King  Solomon 
drew  his  wealth  of  gold. 

There  is  little  to  suggest  the  Land  of  Ophir  about  the  town 
of  Colon  as  it  appears  at  the  present  day.  The  town  lies  on  the 
margin  of  a  sodden  swamp,  the  mud  shore  of  which  has  been 
trodden  into  the  semblance  of  honest  earth  by  generations  of 
human  feet.  It  is  a  small  place,  being  composed  of  one  long 
street  from  the  back  of  which  minor  streets  come  off  at  intervals. 
These  struggle  for  varying  distances  towards  the  swamp,  and  then 
drop  off  in  despair  among  miscellaneous  rubbish.  The  general 
plan  of  the  town,  therefore,  is  that  of  a  discarded  comb  with 
broken  and  irregular  teeth. 

The  houses  are,  for  the  most  part,  wooden  shanties  of  the 
dirtiest,  among  which  drinking  bars  and  cafes  are  notable.     There 


3o8  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

are  incongruous,  indefinite  shops  kept  by  Chinamen,  and  store- 
houses filled  with  such  a  medley  of  untidy  goods  as  would  suggest 
the  hoard  of  an  ancient  and  unmethodical  buccaneer.  The 
unkempt  roadway  is  filthy  and  full  of  mud  holes.  Fortunately 
the  railway  runs  along  the  main  street  and  so  presents,  when 
trains  are  not  passing,  a  convenient  promenade.  The  place  is  hot, 
sickly  and  dispirited,  a  rendezvous  of  dejected  loafers.  Any 
backwood  settlement  in  the  Far  West  may  be  more  rudimentary, 
but  it  would  at  least  be  alive  with  vigour,  hope  and  determination. 
Here  there  is  only  a  yawning  apathy,  a  state  of  desponding 
anaemia. 

There  is  a  look  of  the  neglected  lazar-house  about  the  spot, 
and  certainly  the  smell  of  the  same ;  for  it  is  doubtful  if  any  place 
is  more  fetid  for  its  size  than  is  this  well-known  seaport.  Every 
city  has  its  slums,  but  Colon  is  a  slum  without  a  city.  It  has  the 
appearance,  moreover,  of  being  a  temporary  town  erected  to  meet 
some  emergency  or  calamity.  It  is  a  town,  too,  which  seems  to 
have  never  grown  up,  but  to  be  still  in  a  most  unwholesome 
pseudo-infancy.  In  this  respect  it  is  like  a  poor,  dwarfed  cretin, 
who,  although  he  may  be  fifty  years  of  age,  is  yet  a  child  in 
stature  and  in  speech,  beardless,  and  apt  to  spend  the  day  playing 
marbles. 

In  remarkable  contrast  to  this  comfortless,  unhuman  haunt  of 
men  is  the  adjacent  American  settlement  of  Cristobal,  on  the 
Canal  Zone,  where  are  charming  houses,  the  most  perfect  clean- 
liness and  order,  as  well  as  the  latest  developments  of  sanitary 
science. 

The  inhabitants  of  Colon  are  mostly  negroes,  with  a  few  brown 
or  sallow  men  of  very  complex  pedigree.  The  national  costume 
consists  of  frayed  trousers,  a  buttonless  shirt  and  a  slouch  hat. 
There  is  scarcely  a  woman  to  be  seen  in  the  place.  While  the 
squalor  of  the  town  is  not  to  be  excused,  there  are  some  grounds 
for  the  melancholia  which  seems  to  pervade  its  streets.  The  town 
is  low-lying,  and  the  fermenting  swamp  at  the  back  of  it  does  not 
make  for  cheerfulness.  Then  the  wet  season  at  Colon  lasts  for 
eight  months  out  of  the  twelve,  the  annual  rainfall  reaching  as  high 


COLON.  309 

as  155  inches.  Whether  wet  or  dry  it  is  always  hot,  not  with  a 
keen  fiery  sun,  but  with  a  steamy,  enervating,  invahd  heat  which 
carries  Httle  jo}'  with  it 

Moreover  death  comes  very  often  to  Colon,  so  often  that  the 
place  has  been  known  as  "  the  town  of  flags  at  half-mast."  The 
burial  ground  is  on  Monkey  Hill,  where,  during  the  time  of 
epidemics  from  thirty  to  forty  victims  have  been  disposed  of  every 
day.  This  hill  contains  very  many  thousands  of  graves,  the 
resting-places  of  Spaniards,  French  and  English,  of  Negroes, 
Panama  natives,  Chinese  and  the  Mulattoes  of  the  Main. 
Probably  there  is  no  such  burial  ground  in  any  other  part  of  the 
earth.  Those  who  have  realised  this  have  of  late  years  changed 
the  name  of  the  height  from  Monkey  Hill  to  Mount  Hope. 
Dr.  Nelson  in  his  account  of  Panama^  gives  a  local  doctor's 
description  of  the  seasons  at  Colon,  That  practitioner  recognised 
the  following  divisions,  viz,  "  the  wet  season  from  April  to  Decem- 
ber, when  the  people  die  of  yellow  fever  in  four  to  five  days,  and 
the  dry  or  healthy  season  from  December  to  April,  when  they  die 
of  pernicious  fever  in  twenty-four  to  thirty-six  hours." 

Such  is  the  Land  of  Ophir  of  Christopher  Columbus.  Such  is 
the  end  of  the  Gold  Road. 

'  Five  Years  at  Panama  :   London,  1891, 


3IO  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 


Lxn. 

THE   GOLD   ROAD. 

The  puny  strip  of  land  which  separates  the  two  great  oceans  of 
the  world  looks  on  the  map  so  slender  as  to  suggest  that  the 
Colossus  of  Rhodes  might  have  stood  astride  of  it,  with  a  foot  in 
either  sea.  It  is  a  mere  causeway  a  few  square  miles  in  width, 
yet  no  spot  on  the  earth  of  its  size  can  rival  it  in  interest. 
Placed  but  a  few  degrees  from  the  Equator,  cursed  by  a  deadly 
climate,  and  narcotised  by  a  sweltering,  enervating  air,  it  has 
yet  witnessed  the  most  sturdy  displays  of  human  energy  and 
aggression.  It  has  been  the  scene  of  fights  innumerable,  of 
desperate  ventures  and  of  heroic  daring.  More  than  that,  it  has 
been  the  arena  of  enterprises  unparalleled  in  magnitude,  and  can 
boast  to  exhibit  at  this  day  the  greatest  structural  work  ever 
attempted  by  man. 

Although  the  land  is  poor  and  profitless,  being  little  more  than 
swamp  and  jungle,  it  has  been  sought  by  eager  thousands,  and  has 
borne  upon  its  rough  trails  wealth  in  untold  millions,  gold  enough, 
indeed,  for  a  world's  ransom.  Upon  this  pestilential  waste  more 
money  has  been  bestowed  than  would  suffice  to  build  a  dozen 
stately  cities,  and  yet  it  is  a  land  where  none  make  a  home,  a  land 
without  children,  where  the  whole  road  from  sea  to  sea  is  paved 
with  dead  men's  bones. 

It  was  from  a  hill  on  the  Isthmus  that  Vasco  Nunez  de 
Balboa  discovered  the  Pacific  Ocean.*  From  a  like  height 
Sir  Francis  Drake  gazed  upon  that  alluring  sea — the  first 
Englishman  whose  eyes  had  ever  been  greeted  by  a  sight  of  it.'' 

'  In  1513.  '  In  1573. 


THE   GOLD   ROAD.  311 

It  was  at  Nombre  de  Dios  on  the  Isthmus  that  Drake  first  made 
himself  "  redoubtable  to  the  Spaniards,"  while  the  most  famous 
deeds  of  the  Buccaneers  and  their  most  venturesome  assaults 
belong  to  the  annals  of  this  fever-stricken  land. 

Across  the  Isthmus  was  carried  year  after  year,  partly  by 
mule  trains  and  partly  by  river,  the  incredible  wealth  of  Peru.  It 
was  in  the  store-houses  of  Nombre  de  Dios  that  were  piled  up  the 
gold  and  the  precious  stones  of  which  the  ancient  empire  of 
Mexico  had  been  ransacked.  It  seemed  as  if  the  stream  of  gold 
could  never  cease,  for  after  Mexico  had  been  stripped,  and  after 
the  mines  of  Peru  had  been  dug  bare,  gold  came  hither  from 
California.  Thousands  of  pounds'  worth  of  it  were  brought  down 
to  Panama,  and  thence  carried  across  the  Isthmus  by  the  same 
Gold  Road  that  the  Spanish  pioneers  had  made,  carried  in  the 
same  manner  too — half-way  by  mule  pack  along  the  Cruces  road, 
and  half-way  by  the  Chagres  River.  In  1855  the  Trans-isthmian 
Railway  from  Colon  to  Panama  was  completed. 

During  all  these  toiling  years.  Death  has  stood  in  the  narrow 
crossing  and  has  there  exacted  toll  from  whomsoever  passed  by 
the  way.  The  loss  of  life  involved  in  the  construction  of  the  little 
line  of  rail  was  alone  appalling.  The  iron  road  moved  across  the 
land  like  the  car  of  Juggernaut,  crushing  to  death  all  living  things 
it  came  upon.  It  has  been  said,  and  probably  with  truth,  that 
every  tie  or  sleeper  beneath  the  rails  cost  a  human  life.  Enriquez 
de  Guzman,  who  came  into  these  parts  in  1534,  asserts  that  out 
of  every  hundred  men  who  went  to  Peru  for  gold,  eighty  never 
returned  again.  In  like  manner,  during  the  gold  craze  in  Cali- 
fornia, the  number  who  met  with  death  on  the  Isthmus,  within 
sight  of  the  sea  that  was  to  carry  them  and  their  nuggets  home, 
would  have  filled  many  a  happy  town.  Last  of  all,  during  the 
construction  of  the  canal  by  the  French  Company,  men  died 
yearly  not  in  hundreds  but  in  thousands.  In  truth  there  is  no 
burial  ground  comparable  with  this  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  for 
the  dead  lie  thicker  than  the  trees. 

The  town  of  Panama  stands  about  nine  degrees  north  of  the 
Equator.     The  Isthmus  at  its  narrowest  part  is  from  thirty-one 


312  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

to  thirty-three  miles  wide  in  a  direct  line.  The  railway,  running 
as  it  does  obliquely  and  with  many  turns,  covers  nearly  forty-eight 
miles  in  its  traverse.  Extending  along  the  Isthmus  and  parallel 
to  the  coasts  is  an  irregular  range  of  hills,  a  dwindling  tentacle 
of  the  Andes.  These  heights  are  nearer  to  the  Pacific  than  to 
the  Atlantic  Coast,  for  the  Culebra  Pass,  through  which  both 
the  railway  and  the  canal  are  taken,  is  within  ten  miles  of 
Panama.  The  country  to  the  south  of  the  mountains  differs 
much— except  in  the  particular  of  unhealthiness — from  the  land 
on  the  north  At  Panama  the  annual  rainfall  is  about  75 
inches,  while  at  Colon  it  may  mount  to  155  inches.  On  the 
Pacific  shore  the  tide  rises  14  feet,  while  on  the  Atlantic  side 
the  rise  is  but  14  inches. 

There  are  several  rivers  on  the  Isthmus,  but  the  one  of  most 
interest  is  the  Rio  Chagres,  which  enters  the  Atlantic  a  little  to 
the  west  of  Colon.  Both  the  railway  and  the  canal  follow  it 
from  the  hills  to  the  sea.  It  is  a  savage  and  reckless  river 
uncurbable,  untamable.  During  the  dry  season  it  is  merely  a 
sullen,  fever-laden  stream  ;  but  in  the  time  of  the  rains  it  breaks 
out  into  a  maniacal  torrent  that  sweeps  to  perdition  whatever 
comes  in  its  way,  tearing  up  trees  as  if  they  were  reeds,  and 
bursting  from  its  banks  as  if  they  were  walls  of  sand.  It  has 
risen  in  a  day  from  twenty  to  forty  feet,  and  when  the  mad  mood 
is  on  it,  it  must  needs  be  left  to  rend,  to  howl  and  to  destroy  as 
it  likes.  The  makers  of  the  canal  have  surmounted  many  and 
great  difficulties,  but  they  have  yet  to  make  terms  with  the 
Chagres  River. 

The  stream,  when  sufficiently  placid,  is  navigable  for  small 
boats  as  far  as  a  village  called  Cruces.  Cruces,  whose  ancient 
name  was  Venta  Cruz,  is  about  fifteen  miles  from  Panama  as 
the  crow  flies,  and  about  eighteen  by  the  road.  Many  a  band 
of  pirates  have  crept  up  this  river  to  Cruces.  It  was  by  the  Rio 
Chagres  that  Morgan's  buccaneers  made  their  crossing  in  the 
famous  raid  which  led  to  the  sacking  of  old  Panama.  For  many 
years  the  Gold  Road  was  by  way  of  the  mule  track  from  Panama 
to  Cruces,  and  thence  by  boats  to  the  Northern  sea.     It  was  by 


THE   GOLD   ROAD.  313 

this  route  that  the  gold  from  Cahfornia  reached  the  east  coast  of 
America. 

This  river  and  the  Cruces  trail  have  seen  a  great  company 
of  adventurers,  eager  and  radiant  with  hope,  pass  to  the  Pacific, 
and  a  much  diminished  company  wend  their  way  back  again. 
Among  the  latter  have  been  jubilant  men  hugging  bags  of 
gold  dust,  men  who  could  say  that  "  their  fortunes  were 
made,"  and  there  were  others  with  empty  pockets,  dejected 
and  in  rags,  who  brought  back  with  them  nothing  but  the 
hard  memory  of  disaster.  Death  took  toll  from  them  all,  from 
the  wealthy  as  well  as  from  the  shirtless,  for  the  bag  of  gold 
was  no  talisman.  Many  who  had  passed  the  river  and  gained 
the  sea,  who  stood  even  upon  the  deck  of  the  home-going  ship, 
felt  the  bony  hand  laid  on  their  shoulders,  and  knew  that  the 
fever  had  tracked  them  down  and  had  seized  them  at  last. 

The  town  of  Cruces,  the  town  of  the  woful  past,  can  never 
have  been  an  enviable  place  of  residence.  At  one  time  it 
possessed  large  store-houses,  buildings  of  stone,  ample  barracks, 
a  monastery,  and  a  church  of  some  pretence.  When  it  was  in  this 
state  of  glory,  it  became  famous  as  the  scene  of  Drake's  attack 
upon  the  mule  train  from  Panama.  Of  peace  and  of  reasonable 
quiet  it  has  known  nothing.  It  was  periodically  stormed  by 
Indians,  raided  by  buccaneers,  and  was  burnt  down  at  less  certain 
intervals.  In  every  trans-isthmian  enterprise  the  destruction  of 
Cruces  became  an  inevitable  feature.  As  Morgan  approached  it 
on  his  memorable  expedition  the  Spaniards  themselves  set  fire  to 
the  town,  so  that  the  pirates  should  find  nothing  in  the  place  but 
some  carefully  poisoned  wine. 

Cruces  sank  lower  as  years  went  on,  until  it  became  little  more 
than  a  botch  of  shanties,  of  stinking  mule  sheds,  and  of  blaring 
rum  shops,  a  spot  in  whose  festering  streets  one  could  expect  to 
find,  on  any  morning  after  the  treasure  convoy  had  come  in,  the 
puffed-up  body  of  the  muleteer  who  had  drunk  himself  to  death, 
or  the  corpse  of  a  seaman  with  a  knife  sticking  in  his  back,  and 
his  belt  and  pack  missing.  It  is  now  "  a  poor,  miserable  place," 
composed  of  the  dirty  huts  of  a   few   negroes,  half-breeds   and 


314  THE   CRADLE   OF  THE   DEEP. 

Indians.  Of  the  many  routes  across  the  Isthmus,  that  by  Cruces 
and  the  Chagres  River  remained  to  the  last  the  favourite  of  the 
pirate  and  the  smuggler. 

It  would  seem  that  the  earliest  Gold  Road,  "the  roughly  paved 
road  "  that  Pizarro  made,  went  from  coast  to  coast  by  way  of 
Cruces.  It  is  still  called  the  Royal  Road.  In  Drake's  time  the 
treasure  came  from  Panama  to  Nombre  de  Dios,  a  poor  little 
harbour  far  to  the  east  of  Colon.  In  later  years  (for  example  in 
Dampier's  day)  the  Gold  Road  reached  the  Atlantic  at  Porto  Bello, 
a  haven  between  Colon  and  Nombre  de  Dios. 

No  matter  whither  it  went  there  was  no  road  like  the  Gold 
Road,  none  so  fear-compelling,  so  hemmed  about  with  terrors, 
so  haunted  by  alarms.  The  feet  of  Dante  never  followed  a  path 
more  full  of  dread.  It  was  a  narrow  way,  roughly  paved.  It 
shunned  the  open,  slinking  through  the  jungle  where  the  shadows 
were  deepest,  climbing  in  furtive  zigzags  up  the  hillside,  creeping 
like  a  bravo  along  the  river  bank.  There  were  bleached  bones  by 
the  wayside,  skeletons  of  mules,  skeletons  of  men.  The  snake 
loved  to  bask  in  the  little  sun  that  shone  upon  it.  The  air  above 
the  road  was  hot  and  vapid,  and  thick  with  deadly  flies. 

The  mule  trains  were  often  of  immense  length  as  the  crossing 
was  made  at  infrequent  periods.  In  the  van  came  a  troop  of 
Spanish  soldiers,  gaunt,  weather-worn  men,  with  the  fear  of  the 
road  in  their  eyes,  fear  of  an  ambush  of  Indians,  fear  of  the  forest 
outcast,  fear  above  all  of  English  pirates.  Then  with  much 
clattering  of  hoofs  and  jingling  of  bells — for  there  is  companion- 
ship in  noise — came  the  mules  with  their  packs.  The  rough 
goods  went  first,  then  the  silver  ;  in  the  centre  were  the  gold 
boxes,  while  in  the  rear  followed  bundles  of  miscellaneous  loot. 
None  could  tarry  by  the  way.  It  was  a  road  that  knew  neither 
rest  nor  sleep.  It  was  ever  on  and  on  and  on.  Through  heat, 
through  rain,  over  swamp,  over  stones,  the  cry  was  ever  the  same, 
"  Press  on." 

The  crack  of  the  slave-driver's  whip  could  be  heard  along  the 
line  to  keep  hoofs  and  feet  from  lagging.  One  sick  man,  as  the 
fever  creeps  over  him,  lets  his  head  and  arms  drop  upon  the  pack 


THE     GOLD     ROAD     OUTSIDE     OLD     PANAMA. 
Showing  the  rough  paving. 


THE   GOLD    ROAD.  315 

of  his  beast.  A  slash  from  a  whip  leaves  a  line  of  blood  across 
his  back  and  wakens  him  for  a  moment.  The  head  falls  on  the 
pack  again  ;  the  feet  move  still  because  they  are  ever  to  move,  for 
there  is  no  halting  on  the  Gold  Road.  The  whip  cuts  another  long 
wound  in  the  skin,  but  the  slave  now  feels  it  not ;  the  feet  move 
a  little  longer  ;  they  stumble,  then  stop,  and  the  dying  man  rolls 
to  the  ground.  The  procession  never  falters,  never  swerves  an 
inch.  Fifty  mules  trample  him  into  the  mud  ;  their  hoofs  slide 
off  his  chest  and  his  face.  A  dozen  muleteers  walk  over  him  as 
they  would  over  a  hummock,  with  just  a  moment  of  wonder  as  to 
who  he  was.  Then  come  the  vultures,  the  rats  and  the  ants,  and 
there  is  one  more  skeleton  by  the  Gold  Road. 

It  was  a  precious  burden  that  the  mule  trains  bore.  It  was 
the  harvest  of  robbery  and  murder,  the  sheaves  reaped  by 
treachery  and  torture,  a  devil's  crop.  Every  grain  of  gold  came 
from  a  crucible  whose  furnace  was  fed  with  human  lives.  Every 
load  bore  some  contribution  from  wretches  who  had  been  either 
worked  to  death  or  beaten  to  death.  It  was  an  Argosy  of  cruelty 
and  greed.  Costly  as  it  was,  none  seem  to  have  been  made  the 
richer  by  all  the  wealth  that  came  by  this  pitiless  way. 


3i6  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 


Lxni. 

SOME   WHO   FOLLOWED   THE   GOLD   ROAD. 

In  July  1572,  Francis  Drake,  after  elaborate  preparations, 
descended  upon  the  town  of  Nombre  de  Dios  with  the  intention 
of  seizing  the  treasure  which  was  collected  there,  awaiting  the 
arrival  of  the  Plate  Fleet  from  Spain.  The  assault  was  daring 
and  brilliant,  but  it  ended  in  failure,  Drake  was  wounded,  and 
although  his  men  escaped  with  their  lives  they  carried  with 
them  to  the  boats  neither  silver  nor  gold.  Drake  vanished  after 
the  attack  as  suddenly  as  he  had  appeared.  He  hid  himself  in 
one  of  the  secret  harbours,  where  he  kept  his  stores,  on  the 
i\.tlantic  coast  of  the  Isthmus.  In  this  solitude  he  planned 
an  attack  upon  the  mule  train  which  periodically  crossed  the 
Isthmus  with  treasure  from  Panama  to  Nombre  de  Dios.  His 
men  had  suffered  heavily  from  fever,  so  Drake  landed  on  the 
coast,  some  way  to  the  east  of  Colon,  with  only  eighteen  of  his 
crew  but  with  a  company  of  thirty  faithful  Maroons. 

After  many  days'  tramping  through  the  jungle  they  came 
to  the  high  ground  which  lies  between  the  two  seas.  This  was 
in  February  1573.  The  Maroon  chief  led  Drake  with  much 
solemnity  to  a  certain  lofty  hill,  on  the  peak  of  which  was  a 
"  goodly  and  great  high  tree."  Steps  had  been  cut  in  the  trunk 
of  this  king  of  the  forest  and  Drake  was  invited  to  climb  to  the 
summit.  This  he  did.  From  the  height  he  saw  to  the  north 
'  the  Atlantic  Ocean  whence  now  we  came,"  and  to  the  south, 
some  twenty  miles  away,  a  new  saa  glistening  in  the  sun.  In 
this  wise  was  the  Pacific  first  revealed  to  the  eyes  of  England. 
Drake  gazed  his  fill  at  the  wondrous  sheet  of  water,  and  then  and 


SOME    WHO    FOLLOWED    THE    GOLD    ROAD.  317 

tncic  "besought  Almighty  God  of  His  goodness  to  give  him  life 
and  leave  to  sail  once  in  an  English  ship  in  that  sea."  This 
prayer  was  answered  and  in  five  years'  time. 

Moving  southwards  the  party  of  pirates  and  Indians  reached 
at  last  to  that  grand  stretch  of  park-like  land  which  lies  at  the 
back  of  Panama  city.  They  crept  across  the  open  grass  downs, 
crawling  on  hands  and  knees,  until  they  gained  the  shelter  of 
a  wood  within  a  league  of  the  town.  From  this  safe  point 
"  our  captain  did  behold  and  view  the  most  of  all  that  fair  city, 
discerning  the  large  street  which  lieth  directly  from  the  sea  into 
the  land,  south  and  north."  He  would  discern  also  near  to  the 
shore  the  square  tower  of  the  cathedral,  which  tower  stands 
by  the  sea  to  this  day.  Drake  sent  a  spy  into  the  town,  and 
learnt  that  the  convoy  was  starting  that  very  night  for  Venta 
Cruz.  They  were  indeed  already  busy  harnessing  the  mules 
in  the  market-place.  The  treasure  train  was  to  be  exceptionally 
rich  and  heavy,  the  spy  was  told. 

Drake  at  once  turned  back  and  hurried  for  the  Gold  Road 
so  as  to  intercept  the  convoy  before  it  reached  Venta  Cruz, 
as  Cruces  was  then  called.  He  halted  by  the  edge  of  the  track 
about  two  leagues  to  the  south  of  the  little  town,  where  he 
arranged  an  ambush,  hiding  his  company  in  the  long  grass. 
Here  they  crouched ;  every  heart  beating  with  eagerness,  while 
now  and  then  in  the  dark  a  cherry-red  glow  would  illumine 
the  face  of  a  man  who  blew  on  his  fuse  to  keep  it  alight.  The 
pirates  had  not  been  lying  down  for  more  than  an  hour  or  so  when 
the  stillness  of  the  forest  was  broken  by  the  jingle  of  mule  bells. 
The  treasure  train  was  coming. 

"  Drake  had  given  strict  orders  that  no  man  should  show 
himself,  or  as  much  as  budge  from  his  station.  Yet  one  of  the 
men,  of  the  name  of  Robert  Pike,  now  disobeyed  those  orders. 
*  Having  drunken  too  much  aqua-vitse  without  water,'  he  forgot 
himself.  He  rose  from  his  place  in  the  grass,  enticing  a  Cim- 
meroon  with  him,  and  crept  up  close  to  the  road,  '  with  intent 
to  have  shown  his  forwardness  on  the  foremost  mules.'  Almost 
immediately  a  cavalier  came  trotting  past  from  Venta  Cruz  upon 


3i8  THE    CRADLE    OF   THE   DEEP. 

a  fine  horse,  with  a  little  page  running  at  the  stirrup.  As  he 
trotted  by,  Robert  Pike  '  rose  up  to  see  what  he  was.'  The 
Cimmeroon  promptly  pulled  him  down  and  sat  upon  him  ;  but 
his  promptness  came  too  late  to  save  the  situation.  All  the 
English  had  put  their  shirts  over  their  other  apparel,  '  that  we 
might  be  sure  to  know  our  own  men  in  the  pell  mell  of  the  night.' 
The  Spanish  cavalier  had  glanced  in  Robert  Pike's  direction,  and 
had  seen  a  figure  rising  from  the  grass  '  half  all  in  white '  and  very 
conspicuous.  He  had  heard  of  Drake's  being  on  the  coast,  and 
at  once  came  to  the  conclusion  that  that  arch-pirate  had  found 
his  way  through  the  woods  to  reward  himself  for  his  disappoint- 
ment at  Nombre  de  Dios.  He  was  evidently  a  man  of  great 
presence  of  mind.  He  put  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  galloped  off 
down  the  road,  partly  to  escape  the  danger,  but  partly  also  to 
warn  the  treasure  train,  the  bells  of  which  were  now  clanging 
loudly  at  a  little  distance  from  the  ambuscade."  ^ 

Still  the  mules  came  on,  and  were  soon  abreast  of  the  crouching 
men.  A  whistle  was  blown,  and  the  sailors  with  a  cheer  jumped 
out  into  the  track.  They  seized  the  affrighted  beasts,  pulled  off 
their  packs  and  ripped  them  open,  only  to  find,  to  their  utter 
dismay,  nothing  but  wool  and  dried  provender.  The  Spanish 
cavalier  had  done  well.  He  had  hurried  the  food  mules  to  the 
front,  and,  while  Drake's  seamen  were  turning  over  worthless 
sacks  and  clouting  bewildered  muleteers,  the  gold  and  silver  and 
the  cases  of  jewels  were  being  galloped  back  to  Panama. 

This  is  not  the  place  to  follow  the  adventure  further,  nor  to 
tell  how  Drake  that  very  night  fell  upon  Cruces  and  took  it,  nor 
how  he  got  some  little  loot  there,  and  after  a  most  painful  journey 
reached  his  boats. 

Before  returning  to  England  the  persistent  buccaneer  once 
more  visited  the  Gold  Road,  laying  an  ambush  between  Cruces 
and  Nombre  de  Dios.  Robert  Pike  had  no  doubt  been  kept 
without  drink  on  that  occasion,  for  the  English  seized  the  mule 
train  by  absolute  surprise,  and  with  it  more  gold  and  silver  than 
they  could  carry.     So  the  voyage  proved  to  be  "  ridh  and  gain- 

'  On  the  Spanish  Main,  by  John  Maselield,  page  65  ;   London,  1906. 


SOME   WHO    FOLLOWED   THE    GOLD    ROAD.  319 

full,"  for  which  good  ending,  says  the  pious  chronicler,  there  must 
be  ascribed  "  to  God  alone  the  glory." 

One  of  the  most  interesting  of  the  many  crossings  of  the 
Isthmus  was  that  accomplished  by  Dampier  in  168 1.  It  is 
interesting  because  Dampier  was  a  ready  writer,  who  left  behind 
him  a  minute  account  of  the  journey  in  a  book  modestly  referred 
to  as  "this  plain  Piece  of  mine."  Dampier  was  the  son  of  a 
tenant  farmer  of  East  Coker,  near  Yeovil,  and  at  the  age  of 
seventeen  was  apprenticed  to  a  master  mariner  who  hailed  from 
Weymouth.  After  sundry  experiences  the  farmer's  boy  found 
himself  drawn  by  the  magic  of  the  West  Indies  as  steel  is  drawn 
by  a  magnet.  He  tried  logwood  cutting  for  a  time,  but,  finding 
that  occupation  dull,  he  joined  the  Buccaneers,  with  whom  he 
lived  for  some  nine  years. 

The  career  of  a  pirate  would  hardly  seem  to  be  conducive  to 
sustained  literary  work,  yet  Dampier  wrote  his  best  book  while 
on  board  a  pirate  ship.  He  would  often  have  to  leave  a  chapter 
unfinished  in  order  to  join  in  the  looting  of  a  town,  or  the  boarding 
of  a  Spanish  merchantman,  or  the  shortening  of  sail  in  a  breeze. 
Living  as  he  did  among  ruined  lumbermen,  cut-throats,  and  chronic- 
ally uproarious  seamen,  he  had  little  encouragement  for  study; 
yet  he  kept  up  his  orderly  notes  upon  natural  history,  his  accounts 
of  winds  and  tides,  of  the  habits  of  natives,  and  of  the  geography 
of  the  parts  he  visited  with  pious  persistence.  One  can  picture 
him  sitting  on  the  deck,  in  the  shadow  of  a  gun,  busy  with  his  ink- 
horn  and  paper,  but  with  his  cutlass  and  pistols  handy,  sketching 
that  excellent  map  of  Panama  which  he  fondly  describes  as  "a 
particular  Draught  of  my  own  composure."  In  this  pursuit  he 
may  have  been  distracted  a  little  by  a  drunken  chorus  bawled  out 
from  the  forecastle,  and  be  still  more  disturbed  when  a  tipsy 
pirate  stumbled  across  his  outstretched  feet. 

He  kept  his  manuscript,  or  "copy,"  in  "a  large  Joint  of 
Bambo,"  which,  he  says,  "  I  stopt  at  both  ends,  closing  it  with 
Wax,  so  as  to  keep  out  any  water.  In  this  I  preserved  my 
Journal  and  other  Writingrs  from  being  wet,  tho'  I  was  often  forced 
to  swim." 


320  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

At  the  period  of  his  life  with  which  we  are  now  concerned 
Dampier  was  pirating  in  the  Pacific  with  that  execrable  scoundrel 
Bartholomew  Sharp,  the  ending  of  whose  voyage  at  Barbados  has 
been  already  described  (page  51).  The  author  and  certain  of  his 
comrades,  "  being  altogether  dissatisfied  with  Sharp's  conduct," 
resolved  to  leave  him  and  return  by  way  of  the  Isthmus  to  paths 
of  peace.  The  party  consisted  of  forty-four  white  men,  three 
Indians,  and  five  slaves.  They  had  with  them  a  good  deal  of 
loot ;  for,  in  spite  of  Sharp's  objectionable  manners  and  habits, 
the  expedition  had  been  very  profitable.  They  were  indeed 
weighed  down  with  pieces  of  eight  in  bags,  with  parcels  of  silk, 
and  with  miscellaneous  weapons  and  curiosities,  after  the  manner 
of  the  knight  in  "  Alice  in  Wonderland." 

They  landed  at  the  head  of  the  Gulf  of  St.  Miguel  and  struck 
across  the  Isthmus  in  a  north-easterly  direction.  It  was  a  fearful 
march,  full  of  dull  misery.  In  the  first  place  it  was  the  rainy 
season  of  the  year,  while  in  addition  to  this  there  was  great 
difficulty  in  finding  efficient  guides.  The  fee  for  a  guide  was  a 
hatchet,  but  those  who  obtained  this  reward  did  uncommonly  little 
for  their  services.  The  party  at  last  came  across  one  Indian  who 
was  reputed  to  have  an  intimate  knowledge  of  the  district,  but 
unfortunately  this  expert  was  in  a  surly  mood,  and  indeed  gave 
very  impertinent  answers  to  the  questions  put  to  him.  He  was 
not  only  rude  but  positively  obstructive.  The  pirates  "  tempted 
him  with  Beads,  Money,  Hatchets,  Matcheats  or  long  Knives ; 
but  nothing  would  work  on  him."  He  regarded  the  display  of 
wealth  with  as  much  contempt  as  a  cabman  regards  a  shilling 
when  presented  for  a  three-mile  fare. 

This  incorruptible  native  had  however  a  wife,  while  among  the 
pirates  there  chanced  to  be  a  man  who  had  some  knowledge  of  the 
female  temperament.  This  mariner,  with  a  look  at  the  disdainful 
Indian,  drew  something  very  carefully  out  of  his  sea-bag.  It  was 
an  unusual  object  to  be  found  among  a  buccaneer's  luggage,  for 
when  it  was  unfolded  and  shaken  out  it  proved  to  be  a  "  Sky- 
coloured  Petticoat."  This  garment  the  seaman,  with  a  confident 
grin,  popped  over   the  head  of  the  guide's  wife  and  fastened  it 


SOME    WHO    FOLLOWED    THE    GOLD    ROAD.    321 

round  her  waist  with  the  deftness  of  a  man  who  had  had  ex- 
perience. The  giggHng  lady  "  was  so  much  pleased  with  the 
Present  that  she  immediately  began  to  chatter  to  her  Husband, 
and  soon  brought  him  into  a  better  humour." 

Through  the  virtue  of  the  sky-coloured  petticoat  the  weary 
pirates  were  led  for  many  days.  Even  under  such  inspired 
pilotage  the  journey  was  a  tramp  along  a  circle  in  Purgatory. 
The  wretched  freebooters  stumbled  through  swamps  like  the 
Slough  of  Despond  ;  they  tore  their  way  through  tangled  woods, 
yard  by  yard  ;  they  fought  with  the  jungle  as  men  battle  with 
fire ;  they  ploughed  through  mud  up  to  their  waists ;  they 
clambered  up  slopes  of  green  slime,  clinging  on  with  their  nails. 
Their  bodies  became  infested  with  ticks,  their  faces  so  swollen  by 
the  stings  of  flies  that  they  could  hardly  see,  and  when  the  rain 
ceased  in  the  day,  the  sun  burnt  them  with  a  steaming  heat.  Often 
and  often  they  could  find  no  shelter  for  the  night,  nor  could  they, 
owing  to  the  downpour,  light  a  fire.  They  must  needs  lie  on  the 
sponge-like  ground,  which  was  so  sodden  that  any  movement  of 
the  uneasy  limbs  was  accompanied  by  the  wheezing  of  water  and 
the  bubbling  up  of  gas. 

So  impenetrable  was  the  jungle  that  on  one  day  they  only 
advanced  two  miles,  cutting  their  way  all  the  time  through  a  web 
of  brambles,  "  ropes "  and  creepers.  Their  average  progress 
during  the  whole  journey  was  five  miles  a  day,  for  in  this  drear 
wandering  they  travelled  no  less  than  no  miles,  and  it  took  them 
twenty-three  days  to  accomplish  it.  They  lost  their  way  a 
hundred  times,  reeling  about  like  drunken  men.  On  one  day 
Dampier  estimates  that  they  crossed  the  same  river  thirty  times, 
sometimes  by  swimming,  sometimes  by  wading  up  to  their  arm- 
pits, in  the  futile  search  for  a  few  yards  of  open  path. 

On  the  morning  of  the  eighth  day  they  came  to  a  river  so 
deep  and  swift  that  none  dared  venture  to  cross  it.  "  At  length," 
writes  Dampier,  in  the  journal  he  kept  in  the  "  Joint  of  Bambo," 
"  we  concluded  to  send  one  Man  over  with  a  Line,  who  should  hale 
over  all  our  things  first  and  then  get  the  Men  over."  This  being 
agreed    on,  one    George    Gayny  took    the    end   of  the    line  and, 

Y 


322       THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP 

making  it  fast  about  his  neck,  plunged  into  the  torrent.  Un- 
fortunately the  line  became  entangled  and  Gayny  was  turned  over 
on  his  back  ;  whereupon  the  men  on  the  bank  threw  the  rest  of 
the  line  into  the  river,  hoping  thus  to  clear  it.  It  did  drift  clear, 
but  the  rush  of  water  was  terrific ;  Gayny  was  weakened  by  the 
tramp,  and  moreover  he  carried  a  bag  on  his  back  containing 
300  dollars  in  silver.  Two  hands  rose  for  a  moment  out  of  the 
brown  whirlpool  and  Gayny  vanished. 

Some  stragglers  came  upon  him  a  few  days  later,  lying  dead 
on  the  shore  of  a  little  creek,  his  arms  outstretched,  his  eyelids 
closed,  and  with  the  bag  of  coins  still  fast  to  his  back.  They 
themselves  were  too  spent  to  think  of  money  ;  so  they  left  poor 
Gayny  and  his  bag  untouched  and  "  meddled  not  with  any 
of  it." 

Hardest  to  bear,  on  this  fearsome  journey,  was  the  want  of 
food.  They  nearly  died  of  starvation.  Often  enough  they  "  had 
no  sort  of  Food  for  the  Belly."  For  days  they  were  reduced  to 
eating  Macaw  berries  and  such-like  fruit.  Now  and  then  they 
got  plantains  and  yams,  and  even  a  bird  or  two,  or  a  wild  pig  ; 
but  their  happiest  day  was  when  they  shot  three  fat  monkeys  and 
were  able  to  cook  them. 

On  the  twenty-second  day,  to  their  infinite  comfort,  they 
caught  sight  of  the  sea.  By  this  time  their  clothes  had  nearly 
rotted  off  their  bodies  ;  their  feet  were  bleeding  and  tied  up  in 
rags  ;  some  were  lame,  many  were  sick  ;  all  were  covered  with 
sores  and  ulcers  due  to  falls,  or  scratches,  or  the  bites  of  insects. 
"  Our  Thighs  are  stript  with  wading  through  so  many  Rivers," 
writes  the  pirate  author, "  and  not  a  Man  of  us  but  wisht  the  Journey 
at  an  End."  They  came  out  on  the  coast  by  the  Mulatas  Islands, 
and  were  happy  in  finding  there  a  French  pirate  ship,  whose  com- 
mander— one  Captain  Tristian — took  all  the  poor  bedraggled 
company  on  board. 

It  remains  to  be  mentioned  that  with  this  distressful  land  party 
was  their  medical  adviser,  a  surgeon  named  Wafer.  How  he 
came  to  find  himself  on  a  pirate  ship  is  not  known.     During  the 


SOME   WHO   FOLLOWED   THE   GOLD   ROAD.   323 

crossing  of  the  Isthmus  he  received  a  grievous  wound  of  the  leg 
through  the  accidental  explosion  of  some  gunpowder.  Being 
unable  to  walk,  he  was  left  behind  with  the  Indians  to  rest  and  get 
well.  So  impressed  were  the  simple  savages  by  his  professional 
abilities  that  they  could  not  make  enough  of  him.  It  is  indeed 
probable  that  no  practitioner  has  ever  been  so  embarrassed  by  the 
attentions  of  grateful  patients.  As  a  mark  of  their  esteem  they 
removed  the  few  rags  of  clothing  that  still  adhered  to  his  body 
and  painted  him,  from  head  to  foot,  in  brilliant  colours,  red,  blue, 
yellow,  and  green.  With  this  radiant  testimonial  upon  him  he, 
in  due  course,  joined  his  shipmates.  They  saw  walk  down  to 
the  beach  a  nude  figure  decorated  like  a  harlequin,  and  attended 
by  obsequious  Indians.  It  was  not  until  he  lifted  up  his  voice 
that  the  pirates  recognised  in  this  strange  being  their  much- 
respected  ship's  doctor. 

With  the  doctor  came  another  member  of  the  party  who  had 
been  left  behind  with  him  when  he  was  laid  up  by  the  accident. 
This  was  a  Mr.  Richard  Jobson,  a  gentleman  who  seems  to  have 
been  as  much  out  of  place  on  a  pirate  craft  as  was  the  sky- 
coloured  petticoat.  Mr.  Jobson  was  a  person  of  learning,  a 
Divinity  student,  who  had  been  an  assistant  in  a  chemist's  shop 
in  London.  What  led  him  to  abandon  the  making  of  pills  and 
powders  in  order  to  go  a-pirating  is  a  mystery,  especially  as  a 
filibuster's  cabin  is  no  school  of  theology. 

He  took  with  him  across  the  Isthmus,  in  addition  to  his  share 
of  the  loot,  a  Greek  Testament,  portions  from  which  he  was  in 
the  habit  of  translating  aloud  to  the  pirates  when  they  were 
in  a  mood  for  displays  of  scholarship.  It  is  probable  that  on 
occasions,  when  the  party  were  squatting  in  a  swamp  after  an 
arduous  day,  Mr.  Jobson  would  relieve  the  tedium  of  the  bivouac 
by  elucidating  especially  difficult  passages  for  the  benefit  of  the 
damp  buccaneers. 

Unhappily  the  poor  Greek  scholar,  when  he  reached  the  brink 
of  the  sea,  was  already  dying,  and  indeed  in  a  few  days  he  did  die. 
One  may  imagine  that  as  he  lay  delirious  in  his  cot  he  would  still 

Y  2 


324  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

hold  in  his  hand  the  weather-soddened  Greek  Testament,  marking 
with  his  finger  the  place  of  some  verse  in  the  rendering  of  which 
he  was  most  proud.  As  some  kindly  pirate  fanned  him  with 
a  leaf,  he  would  fancy  himself  back  again  in  the  cool,  sweetly 
scented  shop  in  the  familiar  street,  handing  sachets  over  the 
counter  to  gentle-eyed  English  girls. 


LXIV. 

OVER   THE   ISTHMUS   TO   PANAMA. 

The  Trans-isthmian  Railway  is  well  managed ;  the  carriages  are 
comfortable,  and  the  journey  from  Colon  to  Panama  occupies 
about  two  hours  and  a  half  For  some  few  miles  beyond  Colon 
the  line  passes  through  a  dismal  swamp,  on  the  far  edge  of  which 
stands  a  low  hill  of  red  earth.  This  is  Monkey  Hill,  or  Mount 
Hope,  a  height  covered  from  base  to  summit  by  many  thousands 
of  graves.  There  is  consistency  in  this  first  view  of  the  land,  for 
the  swamp  and  the  cemetery  are  very  characteristic  of  the  Isthmus. 

The  country  generally  through  which  the  line  passes  is  wild, 
rough  and  picturesque,  swamp  and  jungle,  jungle  and  swamp, 
with  here  a  sweep  of  prairie  and  there  a  hill.  It  is  a  tangled, 
impenetrable  land,  ever  hot  and  steamy,  and  any  who  scan  as  they 
pass  its  knotted  forests,  its  trap-like  ravines  and  its  oozing  bogs, 
will  understand  the  horrors  of  Dampier's  tramp,  and  why  he  so 
earnestly  "  wisht  the  Journey  at  an  End." 

The  line  leads  by  the  Canal  cutting  so  that  a  good  idea  of  the 
features  of  that  stupendous  work  may  be  gained  en  route.  Many 
camps  are  passed,  many  clearings  in  the  jungle,  many  clumps  of 
negro  hovels,  many  mushroom  towns  full  of  trim,  well-built  houses 
and  "  hotels,"  of  "  restaurants  "  and  stores,  of  Chinese  shanties  and 
immense,  loud-echoing  workshops.  In  many  places  the  forest  has 
been  cleared  by  fire,  so  that  the  place  looks  desolate.  Through 
the  disturbed  solitude  run  miles  of  rails,  tracking  in  all  directions, 
and  on  each  thread  of  the  web  are  a  puffing  engine  and  trucks. 
There  are  waggons  by  the  thousand,  leagues  of  oil  pipes  and  of 
pipes    feeding   the  drills,  mountainous  slopes  of  dirt,  a  forest  of 


326  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

cranes,  mammoth  steam-shovels,  columns  of  smoke,  and  the  ever- 
present  sound  of  steam  whistles,  of  heavy  hammers  and  of  ringing 
anvils.  The  mass  of  discarded  and  crumbling  machinery  seen  by 
the  roadside,  as  well  as  the  host  of  overturned  "  dumping-cars  " 
are  remarkable.  In  one  siding  are  some  thirty  French  locomotives 
in  orderly  line  which  have  never  been  used,  and  which  are  now 
almost  buried  in  the  jungle.  Bushes  hide  the  wheels  and  make 
arbours  of  the  coal  tenders,  while  creepers  climb  around  the 
funnels  as  around  the  trunks  of  trees. 

Of  the  great  engineering  work  itself  it  is  unnecessary  to  speak, 
for  its  details  are  familiar  to  most.  It  is  so  marvellous  an 
undertaking  that  it  quite  overshadows  another  work  on  the 
Isthmus  which  is  not  less  marvellous,  but  which  attracts  no 
attention,  and  that  is  the  clearing  of  the  country  of  disease,  and 
the  converting  of  this  deadly,  pestilential  land  into  a  healthy 
settlement.  This  enterprise,  undertaken  by  the  American 
sanitary  authorities,  has  been  accomplished  by  Colonel  Gorgas 
(a  surgeon  in  the  United  States  Army)  and  his  staff.  Colonel 
Gorgas  is  responsible  for  the  sanitation  of  the  Canal  Zone.  He  has 
under  him  no  less  than  ninety-one  medical  men,  and  a  personnel 
of  over  3000  subordinates.  To  his  undying  credit  he  has  made 
this  most  unpromising  strip  of  land  a  model  of  applied  hygiene, 
and  has  shown,  on  a  scale  never  before  paralleled,  what  preventive 
medicine,  under  an  enlightened  and  liberal  direction,  is  capable  of 
doing. 

Within  about  six  miles  of  Colon,  near  a  place  called  Gatun, 
the  traveller  by  the  railway  will  obtain  his  first  glimpse  of  the 
Chagres  River.  A  sight  of  the  river  is  afforded  many  times 
during  the  next  twenty-four  miles  of  the  journey,  for  the  line 
keeps  close  to  the  stream,  crossing  it  indeed  at  San  Pablo.  It  is  a 
sinister,  evil-looking  river,  a  sullen,  still  river  whose  waters  have 
the  shifty  yellow- green  tint  of  a  snake's  eye  and  the  smell  of  fever. 
It  has  cut  a  deep  channel  for  itself,  so  deep  that  in  places  it  is 
almost  hidden  by  the  bush.  Its  banks  are  of  brown  earth,  bare 
and  slimy,  as  if  nothing  could  live  within  touch  of  the  uneasy 
current.     Along  its  sides  are  hosts  of  dead  trees  which  it  has  torn 


OVER   THE    ISTHMUS   TO    PANAMA.  327 

up  in  its  fury,  and  which  are  not  only  dead  but  stripped  bare,  and 
bleached  like  skeletons.  Here  and  there  are  dangerous  shoals  of 
stones,  malevolent  pools,  and  beaches  of  rust-coloured  mud. 

In  many  a  creek  and  on  many  a  shelving  bank  is  to  be  seen 
the  Indian  canoe,  the  dug-out,  the  canoa  of  old  days  ;  a  poor,  dull, 
blundering  thing  it  is,  for  it  belongs  to  the  age  of  the  stone 
hatchet.  This  is  the  boat  in  which  the  buccaneers  crept  up  the 
stream  to  Cruces,  with  their  fuses  alight  and  their  hangers  in  their 
hands.  This  is  the  craft  in  which  the  gold  was  paddled  down  to 
the  sea,  breathlessly,  eagerly.  The  river  is  unchanged,  its  curves, 
its  pools,  its  shallows  are  the  same  ;  \he  piragua,  the  native  boat,  is 
still  the  same.  Let  it  be  filled  with  a  crew  of  sea-tanned  men  and 
a  few  Maroons,  let  the  banks  echo  once  more  with  their  reckless 
laughter,  and  behold,  there  are  Drake's  men  making  their  way  up 
stream  in  search  of  treasure  ! 

As  the  high  ground  is  reached  on  the  journey  the  country 
becomes  more  open  and  infinitely  more  beautiful.  Such  settle- 
ments as  Gorgona,  Matachin  and  Las  Cascadas  are  charmingly 
situated.  They  are  just  to  the  north  of  the  famous  Culebra 
Pass.  To  the  left  of  these  stations  certain  pleasant  hills  are  to 
be  seen,  from  the  highest  of  which  Bilboa  is  said  to  have  ob- 
tained his  first  view  of  the  Pacific.  To  the  left  of  Bas  Obispo, 
just  beyond  Matachin,  is  the  once  famous  town  of  Cruces,  the 
Venta  Cruz  of  the  buccaneers.  It  is  now  merely  a  depressing 
hamlet  lying  out  of  sight  of  the  railway. 

From  Culebra  the  line  begins  to  drop  towards  the  south,  and 
every  one  is  on  the  look  out  for  a  glimpse  of  the  western  sea. 
Panama  lies  upon  a  flat,  at  a  spot  where  the  ocean  fills  to  its  very 
brim  a  good  green  bay,  a  bay  encircled  by  trees,  a  bay  dotted 
with  islands  to  temper  the  glare  of  the  boundless  mirror.  There 
is  a  great  fascination  about  this  far-off  view  of  the  sea,  but 
perhaps  it  conveys  a  disappointment  to  those  who  expect  that 
some  magic  must  illumine  the  face  of  this  romantic  ocean,  and 
that  its  waters  will  be  bluer,  or  clearer,  or  in  some  way  more 
wonderful  than  any  oceans  that  are.  After  all  it  has  to  be  owned 
that  it  is  only  the  sea. 


328  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

Panama  city  is  small,  Spanish-looking  and  picturesque.  Dampier 
was  charmed  with  the  view  of  it  from  the  bay,  and  maintained 
that  its  many  handsome  buildings  "altogether  made  one  of  the 
finest  objects  he  did  ever  see."  It  was  founded  in  1673,  after 
the  destruction  of  Old  Panama  by  Morgan  the  buccaneer,  and 
has  had  since  then  many  unquiet  experiences.  The  streets  are  a 
little  dingy,  not  conspicuous  for  neatness,  and  not  free  from  smells. 
The  houses,  mostly  of  wood  with  wide  balconies  and  verandahs, 
are  dazzling  with  white  paint  and  shaded,  wherever  possible, 
with  palms.  They  possess  the  barred  windows  and  heavy  doors, 
as  well  as  the  drowsy  courtyards,  which  mark  the  dwellings  of 
the  Spaniard. 

The  many  narrow  lanes  in  the  city  afford  a  pleasant  refuge 
from  the  tropical  sun,  especially  as  at  the  end  of  most  of  them 
will  be  a  glimpse  of  the  sea.  There  are  many  modern  buildings 
in  Panama  designed  in  accord  with  what  is  known  as  "  the  official 
colonial  style."  They  are  pretentious  and  unsightly  enough,  but 
at  the  same  time  the  streets  abound  with  old  stone  houses  of  great 
charm.  There  may  be  only  fragments  of  these — an  arched 
doorway,  a  wall  of  sturdy  masonry,  a  dark  entry,  fragments  of 
fine  carving  or  a  gracious  balcony  in  stone  worthy  of  Seville. 
There  are  curious  little  old-world  squares,  too,  with  a  garish  and 
untidy  garden  in  the  centre  and  a  pale  church  at  one  end,  marked 
by  strange  gables,  a  bell  tower  decorated  with  fantastic  sculptures 
and  endless  saints  in  niches. 

Some  of  the  churches  in  the  town,  gorgeously  built  in  a  long- 
forgotten  style,  are  singularly  picturesque.  The  cathedral,  erected 
in  1760,  presents  two  florid  towers  and  a  fagade  which  is  a  little 
over- elaborate  and  gaudy,  and  is  not  improved  by  much  rain- 
streaked  whitewash.  The  first  church  built  in  the  city  was  that 
dedicated  to  San  Felipe  Neri.  It  stands  in  a  narrow  street, 
a  severely  plain  building,  over  whose  sole  entrance  is  a  shield 
with  the  inscription  "  San  Felipe  Neri,  1688."  It  has  a  quaint  old 
tower  and  belfry.  Its  enormous  door,  studded  heavily  with 
brazen  knobs,  was  intended  to  resist — as  it  has  resisted — the 
attacks  of  marauders.     It  is  evidently  too  a  place  of  refuge,  for 


M.     ''1       IIIL     ULD     CHURCHES     IN     PANAMA     CITY. 


OVER   THE    ISTHMUS   TO   PANAMA.  329 

the  simple  lancet  windows  are  recessed  like  the  loopholes  in 
a  fortress,  and  are  placed  so  high  in  the  wall  that  none  could 
possibly  climb  into  them.  Other  fine  churches  are  those  of  Santa 
Ana,  Nuestra  Senora  de  la  Merced,  and  the  ruined  church  of 
Santo  Domingo.  A  great  deal  of  the  city  wall,  built  in  1673, 
still  exists  along  the  sea  front  of  the  town,  and  very  picturesque 
it  is. 

It  is  claimed  that  the  streets  of  Panama  present  the  most 
mixed  population  to  be  found  anywhere  in  the  world.  This  may 
be  so  ;  for  certainly  in  this  city  can  be  seen  every  conceivable 
tint  of  skin,  from  the  coal-black  negro  to  the  pallid  European 
who  is  ever  haunted  by  a  sickly  fear  of  the  sun. 


330       THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP 


LXV. 

morgan's  raid. 

Morgan's  Raid  took  place  in  1671,  yet  the  folk  of  Panama  speak 
of  it  still.  It  can  never  be  forgotten,  for  it  led  to  the  destruction  of 
the  old  capital  and  the  founding  of  the  new,  the  present  Panama 
being  some  five  or  six  miles  to  the  west  of  the  city  that  Morgan 
demolished. 

Morgan  was  the  son  of  a  Welsh  yeoman.  He  took  to  the  sea, 
and  of  course  made  his  way  to  the  West  Indies.  He  reached 
Barbados,  where  he  was  sold  as  a  servant.  When  he  had  secured 
his  freedom  he  hurried  to  Port  Royal,  and,  landing  there  penni- 
less, was  glad  enough  to  join  the  pirates.  His  extraordinary 
adventures  have  been  told  in  much  detail  by  John  Esquemeling, 
who  was  one  of  the  party  in  the  Great  Raid.*  Of  his  early  life 
it  need  only  be  said  that  by  industry  and  merit  he  rose  to  be 
captain  of  the  Buccaneers,  and  under  his  guidance  they  eclipsed 
all  exploits  that  had  hitherto  found  a  place  in  the  annals  of 
piracy.  Morgan  possessed  himself  of  islands,  raised  fleets  and 
armies,  assaulted  and  took  important  cities — such  as  Puerto  del 
Principe  in  Cuba,  Porto  Bello  on  the  Isthmus,  Maracaibo  on  the 
Spanish  Main — and  acquired  thereby  a  gratifying  amount  of 
wealth. 

In  his  advance  upon  Old  Panama  he  first  of  all  seized  the 
fortified  town  of  Chagres  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  of  that  name, 
and  then,  in  January  167 1,  started  up  stream  with  1200  men 
packed  into  thirty-seven  canoes  and  boats.  They  had  a  fearful 
journey,    being    fired    at   from    the    banks   with  bullets    by   the 

'   The  Buccatuet'i  of  America:  London,  1893. 


MORGAN'S   RAID.  331 

Spaniards  and  with  arrows  by  the  Indians.  They  were,  moreover, 
unable  to  get  food,  and  so  suffered  miseries  from  starvation.  On 
the  seventh  day  they  reached  Cruces,  hoping  to  find  there  a  store 
of  provisions  ;  but  to  their  dismay  the  town  had  been  already 
burned  by  the  enemy,  who  had  left  nothing  behind  them  but 
some  poisoned  wine,  which  had  disastrous  effect  upon  those  who 
drank  it. 

On  the  eighth  day  the  party  started  for  Panama  along  the 
Gold  Road,  the  narrow  paved  road  where  Drake  had  lain  in 
ambush  for  the  mule  trains.  Their  advance  was  so  fiercely  op- 
posed by  both  Indians  and  Spaniards  that  they  had  to  fight  for 
every  mile  of  the  way.  On  the  ninth  day  they  gained  the  summit 
of  a  ridge  and  saw  below  them  the  superb  city  of  Panama,  with  its 
bright-tiled  roofs,  its  orderly  streets,  its  monastery  steeples,  and 
above  all  the  great  square  tower  of  the  cathedral.  This  tower 
reminded  one  of  the  pirates  of  Old  St.  Paul's  in  London,  a  tower 
that  he  had  seen  no  doubt  many  a  time  from  some  tavern  balcony 
in  Limehouse.  Beyond  the  city  was  the  famous  harbour  and  the 
radiant  Pacific  Ocean,  with  ships  passing  by  "  upon  their  lawful 
occasions."  It  was  a  sight  that  made  them  forget  the  toilsome 
river,  the  long  tramp  and  the  biting  pangs  of  hunger. 

Between  the  hill  upon  which  they  stood  and  the  sea  stretched 
an  open  park-like  country,  being  that  same  "  pleasant  country  " 
which  Dampier  describes,  and  "  which  is  full  of  small  Hills  and 
Valleys  beautified  by  many  Groves  and  Spots  of  Trees."  It  was 
a  land  of  rich  pasture  such  as  encircles  many  a  goodly  town  in 
England.  On  these  green  slopes,  in  undisturbed  content,  numbers 
of  cattle  were  grazing.  By  midday  the  starving  pirates  had  shot 
a  few  of  these  beasts,  had  built  a  fire,  and  had  sat  down  to  the 
only  satisfying  meal  they  had  enjoyed  since  they  left  the  sea. 
After  they  had  gorged  themselves  to  the  full  they  crept  down 
the  slope  and  bivouacked  for  the  night  as  near  to  the  city  as  they 
dared. 

The  Spaniards  were  by  this  time  well  alarmed  ;  the  bells  were 
clanging  in  the  cathedral  tower,  and  all  night  through  it  was 
evident  from    the    lights   in    the   streets   and    from    the   lanterns 


332  THE   CRADLE   OF  THE   DEEP. 

moving  along  the  walls  that  every  man-at-arms  in  the  city  was 
astir. 

Early  on  the  next  morning  Morgan  began  his  advance.  The 
Spaniards  had  mustered  a  strong  force  of  cavalry  and  artillery 
outside  the  town.  The  buccaneers  kept  a  little  way  further  along 
the  Cruces  road,  and  then,  to  better  avoid  the  enemy,  made  a 
detour  to  the  west,  crossing  the  ground  upon  which  Panama  city 
now  stands.  They  soon  defiled  into  the  open  savannah  around 
the  old  capital,  and  made  their  final  approach  by  a  route  parallel 
to  the  sea.  The  land  here  is  in  undulating  folds,  with  many  dips 
and  gulleys  and  many  clumps  of  bushes.  In  these  dips  and  be- 
hind these  bushes  the  Spanish  sharpshooters  were  lying,  while  the 
main  army  of  400  horsemen  and  twenty-four  companies  of  foot 
were  drawn  up  in  battle  array  before  the  town.  The  Spanish 
governor  was  unable  to  take  an  active  part  in  the  defence,  having 
been  "  lately  blooded  three  times  for  an  Erysipelas." 

Morgan  extended  his  men  along  such  shelter  as  was  afforded 
by  a  "  dry  Gut  or  watercourse."  In  this  position  he  received  the 
first  charge  of  the  enemy's  cavalry  and  from  this  point  he  made 
his  general  advance.  It  was  a  slow  and  bloody  business,  for  every 
bush  hid  a  man  with  a  musket,  while  the  horsemen  charged  again 
and  again.  Step  by  step  the  buccaneers  pushed  their  way  on  to 
the  city  wall.  The  outer  works  were  silenced ;  the  bridge  was 
crossed  ;  the  gate  battered  down,  and  then  with  hoarse  cheers  the 
pirates  poured  into  the  streets. 

Here  the  battle  "  soon  kindled  very  hot."  Barricades  with 
guns  had  been  thrown  across  the  chief  roads  ;  these  had  to  be 
rushed  and  spiked  ;  volleys  poured  upon  the  buccaneers  from  side 
streets,  from  loopholed  gates,  from  the  parapets  and  stone 
balconies  of  houses.  The  town  was  in  chaos  ;  distracted  people, 
loaded  with  their  dearest  possessions,  rushed  to  and  fro ;  the  sick 
and  infirm,  who  had  been  left  behind,  were  screaming  from  their 
windows.  Waggons  piled  up  with  treasure  were  galloping  for  the 
far  gate,  while  trembling  citizens  were  saddling  mules  or  were 
hiding  money  bags  in  holes  and  corners.  Dogs,  pigs,  and  fowls 
scuttled    wildly   among   the   rabble.     The   noise   of   firearms,   of 


MORGAN'S    RAID.  333 

yelling  men  and  shrieking  women,  of  clattering  horses  and  of 
doors  being  crashed  into  splinters,  drowned  even  the  persisting 
clang  of  the  cathedral  bell.  The  streets  reeked  with  the  smell  of 
powder  and  of  smouldering  fuses,  while  in  the  calm  blue  air  above 
the  city  the  convent  pigeons  were  wheeling  in  circles  of  terror. 

By  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  city  of  Panama  was  in 
the  hands  of  the  pirates.  The  loss  on  both  sides  was  very  heavy, 
and  so  desperate  had  been  the  fighting  that  many,  as  Raleigh 
would  say,  came  to  "  a  most  ugly  and  lamentable  death." 

Morgan  had  hardly  halted  his  men  in  the  Plaza  before  the  cry 
arose  that  the  city  was  in  flames.  Whether  the  firing  was 
accidental  or  the  work  of  the  Spaniards  matters  little.  What  is 
certain  is  that  the  "  very  noble  and  very  loyal  city  of  Panama  " 
was  soon  reduced  to  a  heap  of  blackened  ruins. 

After  three  weeks  devoted  to  methodical  looting,  with  suitable 
torture  of  such  of  the  "  nobility  and  gentry  "  as  fell  into  his  hands, 
Morgan  thought  it  prudent  to  leave  Panama  and  return  to  the 
Atlantic.  "  On  the  24th  of  February,  of  the  year  1671,  Captain 
Morgan  departed  from  the  city  of  Panama,  or  rather  from  the 
place  where  the  said  city  of  Panama  did  stand  ;  of  the  spoils 
whereof,  he  carried  with  him  one  hundred  and  seventy-five  beasts 
of  carriage,  laden  with  silver,  gold  and  other  precious  things, 
besides  six  hundred  prisoners  more  or  less,  between  men,  women, 
children,  and  slaves." 

Starting  back  again  along  the  Cruces  road  Morgan  reached 
the  port  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  without  loss  or  adventure.  As 
soon  as  he  had  gained  the  sea  "  he  went  secretly  on  board  his  own 
ship,"  and  as  secretly  slunk  off  to  Port  Royal,  taking  the  provision 
ships  with  him,  and  a  great  deal  more  than  his  proper  share  of  the 
plunder.  His  old  comrades  in  arms  he  left  behind  on  the  barren 
shore  at  Chagres,  cursing  fluently,  shaking  their  fists  and  stamping 
their  feet  until  their  bodies  rattled  like  money  boxes,  for  they  had 
still  much  coin  upon  them.  Before  the  perfidious  Morgan  was  out 
of  sight  they  had  begun  to  rummage  their  sacks  and  examine 
their  cannikins  for  food,  for  they  were  face  to  face  with  starvation. 


334  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE    DEEP. 


LXVI. 

OLD   PANAMA. 

Old  Panama,  the  city  that  Morgan  took,  h*es  on  the  shores  of 
a  great  bay  where  the  land  is  flat  and  where  the  jungle  grows 
into  the  beach.  It  can  claim  to  be  "  the  oldest  European  city 
in  America,"  for  it  was  founded,  in  or  about  the  year  1 5 1 8,  by  one 
Pedrarias  Davila,  a  penniless  adventurer  from  Spain,  who,  like 
many  of  his  kind,  found  his  way  to  the  golden  Indies.  It  was 
ever  a  city  goodly  to  look  upon,  and  even  at  the  end,  when  ruin 
had  emptied  its  stately  streets,  it  made  "  a  pleasant  show  to  the 
vessels  that  are  at  sea  " — at  least  so  said  Ringrose,  the  pirate,  and 
he  was  not  a  man  of  mawkish  sentiment. 

For  a  century  and  more  Panama  was  a  place  of  marvellous 
splendour,  so  that  all  who  saw  it  spoke  of  "  the  glorious  city  of 
Panama,"  "  the  grandest  in  the  South  Seas,"  "  the  gate  of  the 
Western  World."  It  was  from  Panama  that  the  discoverers  of 
Peru  set  forth  upon  their  marvel-revealing  voyage.  To  the 
harbour  of  the  town  came  in  galleons,  pirogues  and  pinnaces  the 
precious  merchandise  of  South  America,  the  pearls  from  the  Pearl 
Islands,  the  slaves  from  the  far-extending  coasts.  As  the  city 
grew  in  wealth  so  it  grew  in  magnificence,  in  the  costliness  of  its 
houses,  in  the  extravagance  of  its  luxuries,  and  in  that  languid 
sensuousness  which  saps  life  in  the  tropics.  The  merchant  princes 
of  Panama,  with  their  lace-decked  tunics  of  brocaded  silk  and 
their  retinues  of  slaves,  well-nigh  outshone  the  haughty  citizens 
of  even  Venice  and  Genoa.  The  great  slave  market  of  the  city 
was  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  west.  The  gold  fleet  that 
anchored  off  the  islands  and  landed  its  freight  in  the  shallow 
harbour  rivalled  that  of  Jason  with  the  Golden  Fleece. 


THf:     BRIDGE     LEADING     INTO     OLD     PANAMA. 


THE     SEA     WALL     AT     OLD     PANAMA. 


OLD    PANAMA.  335 

At  the  time  of  Morgan's  Raid  Panama  possessed  a  cathedral, 
two  churches,  eight  monasteries,  and  over  ten  score  store-rooms 
for  wares.  It  contained  some  7000  houses.  The  better  of  these 
were  built  of  stone  or  brick,  with  the  upper  parts  of  finely  carved 
cedar  wood.  The  higher  stories  overhung  the  lower,  so  that 
pleasant  shadows  fell  across  the  cobble-stoned  streets,  and  the 
ladies  in  the  balcony  could  look  down  on  the  mules  as  they  passed 
by  with  their  gay  trappings.  In  the  suburbs  were  gardens,  while 
beyond  was  that  glorious  savannah  where  grazed  rich  flocks  and 
herds. 

Old  Panama  is  some  five  or  six  miles  to  the  east  of  the  present 
city.  A  part  of  the  way  thither  is  by  a  wide,  new  road  which 
crosses  the  savannah.  About  a  mile  along  the  road  will  be  seen 
to  the  left  a  high  ridge.  This  is  called  the  Buccaneer's  Hill,  for 
it  is  claimed  that  it  was  from  this  point  that  Morgan  obtained 
his  first  sight  of  the  city.  The  road  winds  through  that  peaceful, 
open  grass  country  which  so  charmed  the  pirates,  who,  red  with 
murder,  had  fought  their  way  across  from  the  Northern  Sea. 
It  is,  as  Dampier  says,  "  a  brave  land,"  of  just  such  gentle  downs 
and  dells  as  children  play  among.  Cattle  graze  on  these  uplands 
still,  as  they  did  on  the  day  when  Morgan  and  his  men  appeared 
panting  <;ver  the  crest  of  the  hill. 

The  new  road  probably  follows  very  nearly  the  route  taken 
by  the  buccaneers  in  their  approach  upon  the  city.  It  crosses 
a  tiny  stream  in  a  hollow,  and  there  can  be  little  doubt  but  that 
this  is  the  "  dry  Gut  or  watercourse "  along  which  Morgan  ex- 
tended his  men  and  where  he  awaited  the  first  charge  of  the 
Spanish  cavalry.  The  waving  downs  between  this  little  "  nullah  '' 
and  the  town  would  have  given  excellent  shelter  to  the  skirmishers 
who  harassed  him  in  the  early  part  of  his  advance. 

As  the  site  of  the  city  is  neared  the  road  must  needs  be  left, 
and  the  rest  of  the  journey  undertaken  on  foot.  The  ruins  of  Old 
Panama  lie  in  the  midst  of  what  appears  at  first  to  be  an  im- 
penetrable jungle.  Shortly  after  entering  the  wood,  however, 
a  narrow  road  is  come  upon  which  pushes  through  the  shadows 
of  the  forest  in  the  direction  of  the  city.     It  is  a  suspicious  road, 


336  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

that  turns  stealthily  to  this  side  and  to  that,  as  if  it  went  in  dread 
Yet  it  moves  aside  for  neither  ridge  nor  gulley,  as  if  it  knew  no 
tiredness.  Even  when  the  sun  is  at  high  noon  the  road  is  dark,  for 
only  in  rare  places  will  a  streak  of  light  fall  across  it.  Although 
roughly  paved  with  large  stones,  it  is  yet  wild  and  unkempt,  and 
much  overgrown  with  weeds. 

This  is  the  famous  Gold  Road,  the  road  to  Cruces,  the  road  of 
the  mule  trains  that  carried  the  wealth  of  Peru  across  the  land  on 
the  way  to  Spain.  Along  this  purgatorial  path,  poor,  worn  and 
neglected  as  it  is,  treasure  has  been  borne  to  the  worth  of  untold 
millions.  One  almost  expects  to  hear  the  jingle  of  the  mule  bells 
and  the  clatter  of  hoofs  on  the  stones,  or  to  see  emerge  round  the 
bend  the  soldiers  of  the  advanced  guard,  with  their  muskets  in 
their  hands  and  their  horses  sniffing  the  way  in  fear.  The  silence 
that  muffles  the  path  is  now  broken  only  by  the  call  of  birds  or 
the  rustle  of  a  snake  in  the  thicket.  It  was  down  this  tragic  road 
that  the  pirates  rushed,  hot-foot,  upon  the  city  in  the  terrible  year 
of  167 1,  while  it  is  probable  enough  that  by  this  very  path  the 
spy  sent  forth  by  Drake  made  his  way  to  the  market-place  where 
he  witnessed  the  marshalling  of  the  mule  train. 

Colonel  Gorgas,  who  has  been  long  resident  in  Panama,  tells 
me  that  the  Gold  Road  can  be  still  followed  for  miles  towards 
Cruces,  although  it  is  in  many  places  a  mere  trail  in  the  forest. 
In  like  manner  there  stretch  to  the  northwards  those  other  two 
famous  roads,  the  one  to  Nombre  de  Dios,  and  that  which  led  to 
Porto  Bello. 

Keeping  to  the  Cruces  road,  one  emerges  at  last  into  the  open 
by  the  margin  of  a  wide  and  beautiful  bay.  Here  the  paved  track 
runs  between  low  walls,  and  then  crosses  a  stone  bridge  into  the 
town.  The  bridge  is  narrow,  as  no  doubt  the  buccaneers  found 
to  their  cost.  It  spans  a  little  arm  of  the  sea  which  runs  into  the 
salt-water  lagoon  behind  the  city.  In  spite  of  its  great  age  this 
bridge,  with  its  single  arch,  is  well  preserved,  for  the  Spanish 
masons  of  old  days  were  no  mean  builders.  On  the  far  side  of 
the  bridge  is  the  gate-house,  a  building  of  great  strength,  whose 
ruins  are  almost  shrouded  in  the  forest 


OLD   PANAMA.  337 

The  ancient  town  lay  along  the  shore  of  two  bays  which  are 
separated  by  a  spit  of  rock.  The  bay  to  the  west  of  the  spit 
presents  a  wide  sweep,  full  open  to  the  sea.  This  is  the  bay  just 
spoken  of  The  cove  to  the  east  of  the  point  is  small  and  narrow, 
and  was  the  harbour  of  Old  Panama.  The  jungle  in  which  the 
city  is  lost  comes  down  to  the  very  edge  of  the  sands,  and  is  so 
dense  that  it  is  impossible  to  make  a  way  through  it  To  reach 
the  cathedral  and  the  haven  it  is  necessary  therefore  to  walk  along 
the  beach.  What  a  tramp  it  is  !  There  is  not  a  breath  of  wind 
stirring  ;  there  is  not  a  speck  of  shade  ;  the  heat  is  intense  ;  the 
white  sand  into  which  the  feet  sink  at  every  step  is  almost  too  hot 
to  touch,  so  that  one  wonders  why  the  land  crabs  which  crawl 
over  it  are  not  cracked  by  the  heat.  The  air  above  the  beach 
trembles  and  shimmers  as  if  it  rose  from  a  crucible.  The  glare 
from  the  sea  and  from  the  metal-like  waste  of  glistening  mud  left 
by  the  tide  is  almost  blinding. 

At  the  far  end  of  the  bay,  near  the  spit  of  rock,  is  the 
cathedral.  It  was  dedicated  to  Saint  Anastasius  and  stands  close 
to  the  beach.  It  is  represented  now  by  a  strong,  square  tower, 
built  of  brick  faced  with  grey-green  stone.  Its  upper  windows  are 
arched,  its  lower  windows  are  square.  It  is  a  simple  tower  of 
imme^  se  solidity,  still  sturdy  and  defiant.  This  is  the  tower  that 
Drake  saw  from  the  wood,  a  league  beyond  the  town ;  this  is  the 
beacon  that  cheered  the  eyes  of  Morgan  when  he  gained  the 
summit  of  the  sea  hills,  and  that  guided  him  in  his  desperate 
venture.  This  same  tower  was  the  pillar  of  cloud,  seen  far  out  at 
sea,  that  led  Bartholomew  Sharp  and  a  score  of  other  ruffians  in 
many  nefarious  wanderings.  It  is  said  that  upon  the  altar  of  the 
Virgin  within  this  church  Pizarro  laid  his  votive  offering  before 
he  started  upon  that  voyage  which  led  to  the  discovery  of  Peru. 
Within  the  tower  is  a  stone  stair  leading  to  the  belfry,  the  very 
stair  down  which  stumbled  the  trembling  sexton  who  tolled  the 
alarm  bell  as  Morgan  and  his  men  neared  the  bridge.  Beneath 
the  tower  is  a  wide  stone  arch  of  surprising  massiveness.  The 
walls  of  the  church  still  stand,  but  the  space  between  them  is  filled 

z 


338  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

with  tangled  bush,  through  which  no  man  could  make  his  way 
unless  armed  with  a  cutlass. 

Along  the  margin  of  the  shore,  near  by  the  cathedral,  are  heavy 
walls  and  the  remains  of  strong  buildings,  which  represent,  no 
doubt,  the  sea  defences  and  the  store-houses  of  the  old  city.  Any 
who  force  a  passage  through  the  wood,  which  lies  at  the  back  of 
the  church,  will  come  upon  endless  relics  of  the  great  metropolis — 
paved  ways  and  wide  courts,  stout  walls,  the  lower  stories  of 
houses  as  well  as  doorways,  stone  windows  filled  with  creepers^ 
and  rugged  foundations  covered  by  the  undergrowth  of  a  tropical 
forest.  Long  streets  can  be  defined,  and  vague  masses  of  titanic 
masonry  can  be  met  with,  which  may  have  belonged  to  fortresses, 
to  monasteries,  or  to  prisons. 

Over  two  hundred  years  have  gone  by  since  these  lanes 
echoed  to  the  feet  of  men ;  since  the  roads  were  thronged  with 
eager  folk,  pushing  their  way  up  from  the  quay ;  since  the  mule 
bells  broke  in  upon  the  dreams  of  fair  women  who  dozed  in  the 
cedarwood  balconies  ;  since  the  children  chased  the  lizards  in  the 
tatio  which  is  now  a  mere  maze  of  brambles. 

The  famous  harbour  of  the  city  is  a  spot  of  strange  fascination. 
It  is  shut  in  by  an  impenetrable  forest,  whose  trees  and  bushes 
come  down  to  the  water's  edge.  The  shore  is  of  rough,  black-grey 
rock.  The  harbour  almost  dries  out  at  low  tide,  presenting  then 
a  sheet  of  shining  mud  in  a  ring  of  green.  Ships  in  the  old  days 
could  only  enter  at  high  water.  When  the  tide  ebbed  they  were 
left  stranded,  and  so  could  be  careened  and  scrubbed,  and  their 
cargoes  carried  ashore  on  the  heads  of  slaves  or  by  mule  packs  or 
in  carts.  It  is  hard  to  believe  that  this  was  once  a  famous  haven, 
crammed  with  craft  of  all  kinds,  and  echoing  with  the  shipwrights' 
hammers,  with  the  shouts  of  seamen,  the  noise  of  gangs  of  busy 
porters,  and  the  occasional  rattle  of  a  salute,  as  a  ship  appeared  in 
the  offing.  On  the  point  of  rock  is  an  old  stone  fort,  square-walled 
and  solid,  but  hard  to  enter,  not  by  reason  of  its  defences,  but  from 
the  entanglement  of  brushwood  which  almost  buries  it  from  sight. 

From  this  harbour  mouth,  looking  westwards,  can  be  seen  the 
three  little  conical  islands  of  Flamenco,  Perico,  and  Naos.     It  was 


OLD    PANAMA  339 

around  these  islands,  in  the  month  of  April  1680,  that  was  fought 
one  of  the  most  desperate  hand-to-hand  fights  ever  witnessed  on 
the  sea — a  fight  between  Spaniards  and  English  pirates.  It  was 
in  this  engagement  that  the  buccaneers  Coxon,  Sawkins,  and 
Ringrose  captured  that  ever-adventurous  galleon  the  Most 
Blessed  Trinity.  The  harbour  of  Panama  that  saw  all  this  is 
now  an  utter  solitude,  silent  and  forgotten,  a  sea  refuge  hidden  in 
a  mysterious  forest,  a  place  of  shadows,  haunted  only  by  pelicans 
and  sea  birds,  and  where  none  but  the  ghosts  of  ships  come  in 
on  the  rising  tide. 


12 


340  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 


LXVII. 

"  grog's  "   VICTORY. 

Shortly  after  leaving  Colon  the  steamer  comes  in  sight  of  the 
beautiful  cape  of  Manzanillo,  a  green  cape  where  tree-covered 
hills  rise  one  behind  the  other  until  they  are  lost  far  away  in  the 
haze.  In  this  cape  of  creeks  is  an  inlet  where  lies  the  shrunken 
town  of  Porto  Bello.  It  lies  at  the  end  of  a  silent  fiord,  through 
which  a  stretch  of  blue  water  finds  its  way  into  the  heart  of  the 
hills.  As  the  ship  passes  by,  it  is  possible  to  see  the  few  houses  of 
the  town,  the  white  sails  in  the  harbour,  the  low  sea  wall  and  the 
stone  fort  of  San  Jeronimo.  From  all  accounts  of  the  place  it 
would  appear  to  be  still  interesting  and  picturesque,  although 
Samuel  Champlain  considered  it  to  be  "  the  most  evil  and  pitiful 
residence  in  the  world,"  and  Tom  Cringle  found  it  "  a  miserable, 
dirty,  damp  hole."  In  the  depths  of  this  haven  rests  a  caravel 
of  Christopher  Columbus,  which  was  abandoned  there  during  the 
explorer's  last  voyage. 

Porto  Bello,  in  spite  of  its  strong  fortifications,  was  many 
times  taken  by  English  buccaneers.  The  most  desperate  and 
successful  of  these  assaults  was  that  tarried  out  by  the  redoubt- 
able Morgan  in  1668.  In  some  respects  the  most  remarkable 
capture  of  Porto  Bello  was  effected  by  Admiral  Vernon  in  1739. 
On  the  outbreak  of  the  War  of  Jenkins'  Ear  Admiral  Vernon 
was  dispatched  with  a  serviceable  fleet  to  the  West  Indies.  He 
at  once  made  for  Porto  Bello.  Porto  Bello  held  a  fond  and 
romantic  place  in  the  British  mind.  It  was  on  the  Spanish  Main. 
It  rang  with  stirring  tales  of  pirates  and  with  the  exploits  of  such 
heroes  as  Drake,  Coxon  and  Morgan.  Every  schoolboy  adored 
Porto   Bello.     Moreover  it  was  believed  to  be  stacked  roof-high 


"GROG'S"   VICTORY.  341 

with  treasure  of  a  very  costly  kind,  and  to  be  defended  in  a  way 
which  was  both  fearful  and  wonderful.  The  Plate  fleet  anchored 
there,  so  that  it  was  altogether  a  very  terrible  place. 

Admiral  Vernon,  who  was  five  and  fifty  years  of  age  when 
he  started  upon  this  daring  venture  against  the  city  of  Apollyon, 
was  known  throughout  the  fleet  as  "  Old  Grog."  He  received 
this  nickname  because  he  wore  a  boat  cloak  made  of  grogram, 
which  same  notable  item  in  his  wardrobe  led  to  the  addition 
of  a  word  to  the  English  tongue.  In  1740  he  issued  an  order 
that  the  rum  served  out  to  the  men  should  be  mixed  with 
water.  This  edict,  although  sound  in  physiological  principle, 
involved  a  meddling  with  the  sailor's  most  sacred  asset  and  so  was 
not  popular  in  the  foc'sle.  The  men  called  the  mixture  "grog," 
and  grog  it  has  been  to  this  day,  as  the  dictionaries  will  testify. 

Now  the  taking  of  Porto  Bello  proved  to  be  a  very  trivial 
affair.  The  Spaniards  had  no  suspicion  of  Vernon's  coming. 
Their  forts  were  neglected,  their  ramparts  in  decay,  most  of  the 
guns  were  dismounted,  the  store  of  ammunition  was  small,  and 
the  garrison  had  been  greatly  reduced  in  numbers  by  yellow  fever. 
The  Iron  Castle  on  the  north  of  the  inlet  was  battered  by  the  ships 
and  promptly  silenced.  The  men  then  landed  to  attack  the  Stone 
Castle  by  the  town.  They  climbed  in  through  the  gun  embrasures 
by  standing  upon  one  another's  shoulders,  like  a  party  of  mis- 
chievous boys.  They  met  with  practically  no  resistance,  for  the 
town  capitulated  readily  enough,  and  the  vigour  of  the  defence 
may  be  judged  from  the  fact  that  in  this  assault  the  total  number 
of  the  British  killed  amounted  to  four. 

In  due  course  the  news  came  home  that  Porto  Bello  the 
Terrible  had  fallen.  England  went  incontinently  mad  with  joy 
over  the  glorious  and  incredible  victory.  Think  of  it  as  the 
news  was  read  out !  "  Porto  Bello  captured  !  The  Iron  Castle 
battered  into  ruins  !  The  Stone  Fort  stormed  !  The  town  in  the 
hands  of  the  English  !  "  There  was  a  general  rejoicing  through 
the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land :  flags  were  hoisted  on  every 
pole,  shouting  mobs  filled  the  streets,  while  every  village  tavern 
was  crow«Jed  with  men  clamouring  for  tankards  of  ale  in  which  to 


342  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

drink  the  health  of  the  gallant  admiral.  More  than  that,  count- 
less addresses  of  congratulation  were  sent  to  the  King.  London 
conferred  upon  the  admiral  the  freedom  of  the  City,  while  both 
Houses  of  Parliament  voted  him  their  admiring  thanks.  Every 
public-house  that  happened  to  be  building  at  the  time  was 
named  the  "  Vernon's  Head,"  and  any  row  of  new  houses  in  a 
town  became  forthwith  "  Porto  Bello  Terrace  "  or  "  Vernon  Place." 

Last  of  all,  in  order  that  the  people  might  be  able  to  hand 
down  to  their  sons  and  grandsons  the  memory  of  this  splendid 
victory,  numerous  medals  were  struck.  They  bore  on  one  side 
the  figure  of  the  admiral  and  the  inscription — "  He  took  Porto 
Bello  with  six  ships."  It  is  to  be  feared  that  in  time  the  be- 
medalled  folk  discerned  some  sarcasm  in  this  terse  sentence,  when 
they  came  to  know  that  he  might  just  as  well  have  taken  Porto 
Bello  with  one  ship. 

In  the  National  Portrait  Gallery  is  a  picture  by  Gainsborough 
of  a  meek,  flabby  old  gentleman,  in  a  cherry-coloured  velvet  coat 
with  cambric  frills  about  the  wrists.  Beneath  in  bold  letters  are 
the  words  "  The  Hero  of  Porto  Bello." 


LXVIII. 

HOW  DRAKE  WRESTLED  WITH  THE  SHADOW. 

Porto  Bello  is  memorable  as  the  burial-place  of  that  most 
adventurous  of  British  seamen,  Sir  Francis  Drake,  while  to  the 
east  of  the  point  is  the  Gulf  of  Darien,  where  was  laid  the  scene 
of  a  strange  and  characteristic  episode  in  his  life. 

Drake  was  a  man  of  strong  will,  who,  when  once  he  had  bent 
his  mind  to  a  task,  cut  his  way  to  the  goal  through  every  barrier 
and  crushed  with  a  hand  of  iron  whomsoever  opposed  him  in 
his  resolve.  Each  venture  that  he  undertook  he  pursued  with 
a  determination  as  dogged  as  fate,  and  with  a  patient,  buoyant 
obstinacy  that  knew  not  failure.  After  the  disaster  at  San  Juan 
d'Ulloa,  in  which  Drake  shared,  he  vowed  to  undermine  the  power 
of  Spain  in  the  West  Indies.  He  set  about  this  labour  with  cold- 
blooded precision.  There  was  to  be  no  mad  rushing  upon  the  foe. 
The  scheme  of  attack  must  first  be  perfect  in  every  detail.  He 
made  two  preliminary  voyages  to  the  Indies  to  spy  out  the 
country,  to  find  points  for  landing,  to  make  for  himself  a  safe  base 
from  which  to  strike. 

In  certain  secret  harbours  on  the  Main  he  established  store- 
houses and  forts,  as  well  as  the  rudiments  of  a  dockyard.  He 
took  out  pinnaces  in  sections  so  that  they  could  be  pieced  together 
and  launched  in  quiet  creeks.  On  a  beach  hitherto  untrodden  by 
man  he  set  up  a  blacksmith's  forge,  with  anvil  and  bench  and 
a  supply  of  coals  from  Plymouth.  His  stores  and  his  provisions 
were  unsurpassed  in  excellence.  He  picked  his  men  with 
prudence  and  would  have  none  but  the  best.  He  forgot  nothing, 
omitted  nothing.  So  careful  was  he  of  the  health  of  his  crew  that 
many  assume   him  to   have  possessed  a  specific  against   scurvy. 


544  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

The  men  were  not  only  well  fed,  but  well  clothed,  while  they  were 
armed  with  a  completeness  which  would  put  a  battleship  to  shame. 
Before  he  had  hoisted  his  banner  he  had  made  himself,  to  the  best 
of  his  knowledge,  invincible.  He  fought  the  Indians ;  he  fought 
the  Spaniards  ;  he  slashed  a  road  through  the  thickest  jungle  ;  he 
battled  his  way  through  the  wildest  gale.  In  a  land  barren  of 
food  he  defied  starvation ;  in  a  land  of  sweltering  heat  he  defied 
the  sun. 

In  that  voyage  in  which  he  made  his  first  attack  upon  the 
coast  he  took  his  brothers  John  and  Joseph  with  him.  John  was 
killed  in  1572  when  boarding  a  Spanish  frigate.  In  January  1573 
Drake  was  hiding  in  one  of  his  secret  harbours  in  the  Gulf  of 
Darien,  making  preparations  for  the  foray  on  the  Isthmus.  While 
in  this  pleasant  haven  a  new  enemy  appeared,  an  enemy  he  had 
never  before  come  upon — the  yellow  fever.  His  men  fell  sick  one 
after  the  other,  suddenly  and  mysteriously.  Not  a  day  went  by 
but  some  sturdy  sailor  was  buried  in  the  sands.  It  was  a 
spectacle  terrible  to  contemplate.  Two  jovial  Devon  lads,  for 
example,  as  strong  as  bullocks,  would  be  playing  bowls  on  the 
beach  in  the  cool  of  the  evening.  In  four  days'  time  upon  that 
very  beach  they  would  be  stretched  out  dead. 

At  last  his  brother  Joseph  sickened  and  died.  Then  Drake's 
masterful  spirit  arose.  He  would  fight  this  invisible  enemy  as  he 
had  fought  the  Spaniards  and  the  Maroons.  He  would  wrestle 
with  death.  He  would  wring  from  the  very  dead  the  secret  of  this 
craven  foe  who  struck  in  the  dark.  Such  was  his  set  purpose  that 
he  ordered  the  doctor  to  dissect  before  his  eyes  the  corpse  of  his 
brother.  The  loathsome  operation  was  performed  in  a  palm  hut, 
by  the  sands  no  doubt,  while  Drake  stood  by  with  clenched  teeth. 
The  sickening  details  of  the  autopsy  are  set  down  in  the  log  of  the 
voyage,  but  there  was  nothing  revealed  that  gave  a  clue  as  to  how 
the  evil  could  be  gripped  and  strangled.  For  once  Drake  had 
met  with  a  foe  who  was  more  than  his  match.  The  doctor  himself 
died  four  days  after  the  examination  was  completed. 

It  was  a  strange  and  terrible  drama.  As  Hercules  wrestled 
with  Death  for  the  body  of  Alcestis,  so,  on  the  palm-lined  shore  of 


HOW  DRAKE  WRESTLED  WITH  THE  SHADOW.    345 

this  blue  creek,  the  strong  man  Drake  wrestled  with  Death  for  the 
lives  of  his  comrades.  By  the  time  he  sailed  forth  from  this 
haunted  haven  into  the  open  sea  only  forty-four  men  were  left 
out  of  a  crew  of  seventy- three. 

Sir  Francis  Drake's  last  voyage  was — as  has  already  been 
said  ' — a  voyage  of  failure  and  disaster.  His  old  friend,  Sir  John 
Hawkins,  had  died  off  Puerto  Rico.  Drake  had  been  repulsed  at 
San  Juan.  He  made  attacks  upon  certain  towns  along  the  Spanish 
Main,  but  gained  little  save  disappointment  from  the  venture. 
Drake,  now  fifty-five  years  of  age,  was  failing  in  strength  and 
energy  day  by  day.  "  As  his  end  drew  near  the  scenes  of  his 
youth  seemed  to  call  him  with  an  irresistible  voice."  "^  He  must  go 
to  Nombre  de  Dios  where  he  had  made  his  famous  landing  just 
twenty-three  years  ago.  He  went,  but  Nombre  de  Dios  was 
empty  and  deserted.  He  sent  a  company  across  the  Isthmus 
along  the  Panama  road,  but  a  few  days  later  they  came  running 
back  into  the  town  in  full  retreat  and  utterly  disheartened. 
This  was  a  blow  Drake  found  hard  to  bear.  "  Then  it  was," 
writes  Corbett,  "  that  the  undaunted  heart  began  to  wax  cold. 
The  jovial  face  grew  sombre.  The  cheery  smile,  to  which  his 
men  had  ever  been  accustomed  to  look  for  light  in  the  darkest 
hours,  had  faded,  and  failure  began  to  haunt  him,  as  he  recognised 
how  the  terror  of  his  name  had  changed  the  Indies.  The  seas 
were  deserted,  the  ports  bristled  with  guns,  and  feverish  wakeful- 
ness had  supplanted  the  old  dreamy  security." 

Leaving  Nombre  de  Dios  he  started  off  on  a  mad  expedition 
to  the  Mosquito  Gulf,  where  he  was  compelled  to  take  shelter 
behind  a  small  desert  island  called  Escudo  de  Veragua,  some  ten 
miles  from  the  mainland.  It  is  flat  and  tree-covered,  with  reddish- 
brown  cliffs.  These  cliffs  have  been  separated  from  the  island, 
here  and  there  forming  small  islets,  "  some  of  which  have  been 
pierced  through,  and  the  arches,  being  crowned  by  dense  foliage 
and  trees  from  seventy  to  eighty  feet  high,  have  a  most  remark- 
able and  picturesque   appearance."^     The   anchorage   is   on    the 

•  Page  218.  *  Sir  Francis  Drake,  by  Julian  Corbett,  page  204  :  London,  1901. 

'  The  West  India  Pilot,  vol.  i.  page  292. 


346  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

south-western  side  of  the  island,  where  the  land  is  low  and  swampy 
and  the  supply  of  water  very  scant.  In  this  unhealthy  place  Drake 
— now  prostrate  with  dysentery — hung  on  day  after  day  in  the 
hope  that  with  a  change  of  wind  he  could  press  on  to  the  west. 
His  men  were  dying  one  after  the  other.  The  water  they  drank 
was  putrid,  the  air  they  breathed  was  fever-laden,  for  they  had 
crept  into  a  veritable  hiding-place  of  death.  The  admiral  was 
lying  in  his  cot  too  feeble  to  move,  but  it  was  not  until  another 
week  had  gone  by  that  he  would  consent  to  weigh  anchor  and 
turn  towards  home. 

In  seven  days  after  leaving  the  island  the  fleet  anchored  off 
Porto  Bello.  It  was  on  the  morning  of  January  28,  1596.  Drake 
had  long  sunk  into  a  state  of  semi-consciousness.  On  the  dawn 
of  this  day  something  roused  him.  It  may  have  been  the  tramp 
of  men  overhead  shortening  sail,  or  the  rattle  of  the  chain  in  the 
hawse-pipe  as  the  anchor  ran  out.  He  raised  himself  in  his  cot — 
a  shrunken  ghost  of  a  man — and  then  it  would  seem  there  came 
upon  him  for  the  first  time  the  knowledge  that  he  was  dying. 

Die  he  would  not  !  He  had  fought  every  foe  he  had  ever  met. 
He  would  fight  Death  too.  He  sat  up  :  he  called  for  his  clothes  : 
he  railed  :  he  mocked  at  the  coming  Shadow.  His  trembling 
servant  dressed  him,  sighing  to  see  the  once  great  wrists  turned  to 
the  wrists  of  a  child  and  the  sturdy  limbs  shrivelled  to  no  more 
than  bones.  The  master  would  put  on  his  best  tunic  and  his  lace 
collar,  his  shoulder  ribbons  and  his  last  new  swordbelt  and  sword. 
He  would  now  walk  out  upon  the  quarter-deck  to  show  the  crew 
that  Francis  Drake  was  ready  to  lead  them  still.  One  step  and 
it  was  his  last.  He  was  lifted  back  to  his  bed,  and  there,  clad  as 
he  would  have  been  on  the  eve  of  a  battle,  the  great  sea-captain 
died. 

He  was  buried  a  league  out  to  sea,  and  on  either  side  of  him 
were  sunk  one  of  his  own  ships  and  his  last  taken  Spanish  prizes. 
The  mail  steamer  as  it  follows  the  coast  must  pass  over  the  very 
spot. 

It  was  just  such  a  resting-place  as  his  heart  would  desire  and 
in  just  such  company  would  he  wish  to  be.     Landwards  stretches 


HOW  DRAKE  WRESTLED  WITH  THE  SHADOW.   347 

the  scene  of  his  early  exploits,  for  Porto  Bello  lies  here  open  to 
the  tide,  while  round  the  cape  is  the  haven  of  Nombre  de  Dios, 
The  beauty  of  the  spot  is  unsurpassed.  It  is  ever  summer  time 
on  these  high  wolds.  The  hills  that  creep  down  to  the  beach  are 
as  green  as  the  hills  of  Devon.  The  sea  is  an  iris-blue,  and  when 
the  wind  is  still  there  is  never  a  sound  to  be  heard  but  that  of  the 
rollers  breaking  on  the  reef. 


348  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 


LXIX. 

CARTAGENA     HARBOUR. 

Some  twenty-two  hours  suffice  for  the  passage  from  Colon  to 
Cartagena,  the  most  wonderful  and  picturesque  city  on  the 
Spanish  Main.  As  first  seen,  when  approached  from  the  south,  it 
may  be  a  city  fashioned  by  enchantment  A  ridge  of  low  hills 
comes  down  to  the  sea,  to  a  point  far  out  from  the  land,  where 
they  glide  imperceptibly  into  the  deep.  Beyond  the  spot  at  which 
the  land  seems  to  have  ended  is  a  faint  white  city  floating  on  the 
water,  illusive  and  ineffable,  a  place  of  ghostly  walls  and  towers  as 
unsubstantial  as  a  cloud.  The  whole  fabric  is  colourless,  and 
such  is  the  glamour  of  the  sea  that  the  unreal  city  seems  to  be 
almost  transparent. 

Cartagena  cannot  be  approached  directly  from  the  ocean, 
owing  to  the  rocks  along  the  shore  and  the  heavy  surf  which  runs 
perpetually  upon  the  ness.  It  is  reached  by  a  great  lagoon,  or 
inland  sea,  lying  to  the  south  of  it.  There  are  two  entrances  into 
this  lagoon  :  the  one  nearer  to  the  town  is  the  Boca  Grande,  but  it 
is  too  shallow  for  any  but  small  boats ;  the  other  entrance  is  the 
Boca  Chica,  which  is  far  away  from  the  city  to  the  very  south  of 
the  inland  sea.  Between  the  two  Bocas  is  the  island  of  Tierra 
Bomba,  which  forms  a  sea  barrier  over  four  miles  in  length. 
Between  the  Boca  Grande  and  the  city  is  a  narrow  spit  of  land 
which  Drake  has  made  famous.     (See  Map.) 

The  sheet  of  water  thus  separated  from  the  open  sea  by  the 
island  and  the  strip  of  land  is  eight  miles  long,  and  is  divided 
naturally  into  three  harbours  :  the  Outer,  which  occupies  the  major 
part  of  the  lagoon  ;  the  Middle,  which  is  the  modern  harbour ;  and 
the  Inner,  a  small,  shallow  basin  under  the  walls  of  the  town. 


CARTAGENA    HARBOUR.  349 

At  the  entrance  of  the  Boca  Chica  is  a  massive  and  grizzled 
fort  of  white  stone — the  Fort  San  Fernando.  It  is  on  the  end 
of  Tierra  Bomba  island  and  is  much  overgrown  by  bushes, 
for  it  is  of  great  age.  Its  dignified  water  gate,  its  many  gun 
embrasures  and  its  stone  sentry  boxes  give  it  a  brave  look  as 
the  haven  is  entered.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  channel,  on  a 
small  island,  is  the  ancient  Fort  of  San  Jos6.  Happily  these 
defences  were  not  in  existence  in  Drake's  time,  when  he  entered 
the  harbour  in  open  boats,  captured  a  frigate,  and  towed  her 
away  out  of  sheer  bravado  and  light-heartedness. 

The  wide,  land-locked  bay,  or  Outer  Harbour,  with  its  palm- 
covered  islands,  its  many  capes  and  its  blue-green  water,  is  very 
beautiful.  At  the  end  is  the  town,  still  eight  miles  off,  but  more 
clearly  to  be  viewed.  It  lies  on  a  flat  seemingly  in  the  sea,  with 
only  the  sky  behind  it,  a  fantastic  fabric  of  brown-grey  walls,  of 
domes  and  steeples,  of  towers  and  chocolate-coloured  roofs.  Where 
the  town  joins  to  the  land  is  a  conical  hill  of  rock — a  kind  of 
acropolis — on  the  summit  of  which  is  a  black  fort  of  forbidding 
aspect,  overgrown  with  green  and  showing  ruinous  breaches  in 
its  walls.  This  is  Fort  Lazar,  which  successfully  resisted  an 
attack  of  the  English  during  the  siege  of  1739.  Some  way  further 
landwards  is  another  hill,  also  conical  and  bare,  but  precipitous 
and  of  immense  size,  reaching  indeed  to  the  height  of  5 10  feet. 
This  is  La  Popa,  on  the  summit  of  which  is  a  venerable  convent. 

Before  reaching  the  Middle  Harbour  the  Boca  Grande  is  passed, 
lying  away  to  the  left.  The  opening  into  the  Middle  Harbour 
is  narrow,  being  wedged  between  Castillo  Grande  Point  on  the 
left  or  west  side  and  a  spur  of  Manzanilla  Island  on  the  right. 
The  Spaniards  in  times  of  panic  were  apt  to  sink  vessels  in  this 
entrance,  the  keels  and  ribs  of  which  rotting  deep  in  the  mud  may 
well  have  added  to  the  present  straitness  of  the  way.  The  Inner 
Harbour  is  so  small  and  so  shallow — having  a  depth  of  no  more 
than  from  one  to  two  fathoms — as  to  be  available  only  for  minor 
craft.  It  was  defended  at  its  entrance  by  the  Pastelillo  Fort,  the 
fine  ruins  of  which  are  still  to  be  seen.  The  steamer  comes  along- 
side a  pier  at  the  city  end  of  the  Middle  Harbour.     This  haven, 


350  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

as  already  stated,  is  separated  from  the  open  sea  by  a  spit  of  low 
land,  which  stretches  from  the  town  walls  to  the  Boca  Grande. 
From  the  part  it  played  in  the  year  1586  it  may  well  be  called 
Drake's  Spit.  A  railway  now  runs  along  it  from  the  steamer  pier 
to  the  city,  so  that  passengers  must  needs  pass  over  that  part  which 
separates  the  Inner  Harbour  from  the  Caribbean  Sea. 

Drake's  Spit  is  made  up  of  a  rough  beach,  a  thick  growth 
of  mangroves,  and  a  number  of  cocoa-nut  palms.  The  story  of 
Drake's  Spit  is  as  follows.  After  the  capture  of  San  Domingo  in 
1586  (page  251)  Drake  made  his  way  to  Cartagena.  He  entered 
the  great  harbour  through  the  Boca  Chica  {i.e.  through  the  present 
steamer  entrance)  "  without  any  resistance  of  ordnance  or  other 
impeachment."  This  was  at  four  in  the  afternoon.  He  made  his 
way  up  the  harbour  as  far  as  the  Boca  Grande.  When  night  came 
on  he  sent  off  a  party  of  sailors  under  Martin  Frobisher  to  attack 
Fort  Pastelillo,  which  then  stood,  as  it  still  stands,  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Inner  Harbour.  The  fort  was  very  strong  and  the  attack  failed, 
as  Drake  assumed  it  would,  for  this  was  a  mere  feint  in  order  to 
withdraw  the  attention  of  the  Spaniards  from  the  real  assault  on 
the  town. 

This  assault  was  led  by  Carleil,  who  had  so  distinguished 
himself  at  San  Domingo.  Carleil  landed  his  soldiers  at  the  end 
of  the  spit  where  it  abuts  on  the  Boca  Grande.  This  narrow  strip 
of  beach  and  bush  is  about  two  and  a  quarter  miles  in  length. 
The  men  advanced  along  the  shore  in  silence,  under  the  cover  of 
the  trees  and  the  darkness  of  the  night.  The  last  half  mile  of  the 
spit,  where  it  comes  between  the  Inner  Harbour  and  the  sea,  and 
where  the  railway  from  the  pier  now  runs  in  peace,  is  very  narrow. 
As  the  English  neared  this  point  they  were  discovered  by  some 
mounted  scouts,  who  promptly  galloped  off  to  alarm  the  garrison. 
Across  the  narrow  part  the  buccaneers  found  that  a  wall  had  been 
built,  with  a  staked  ditch  in  front  of  it.  There  was  a  gap  in  the 
wall  to  allow  the  horsemen  to  pass  in,  but  the  entry  was  already 
blocked  by  gabions  in  the  form  of  wine  butts  filled  with  earth. 
Behind  the  wall  were  six  demi-culverins  and  sakers,  and  a  force 
of  300   men   armed   with    muskets  and   pikes.      Moreover,  two 


CARTAGENA    HARBOUR.  351 

great  galleys,  drawn  up  on  the  harbour  beach,  were  manned  by 
a  company  of  soldiers  who  could  command  the  passage  with  their 
firearms.     Every  gun  was  trained  upon  the  spit. 

As  Carleil  advanced,  the  Spaniards  poured  a  torrent  of  shot 
upon  the  narrow  way.  The  British  kept  silence  and  never  fired. 
They  crawled  along  the  water's  edge  so  as  to  be  out  of  range  until 
they  were  close  under  the  wall.  Then,  at  a  given  signal,  they 
made  a  rush  for  the  gap  through  the  blizzard  of  bullets,  Down 
went  the  wine  butts  like  ninepins.  A  volley  was  fired  in  the  very 
face  of  the  horrified  defenders  of  the  breach,  and  with  a  yell  the 
English  fell  upon  them  with  pike  and  cutlass.  Carleil  with  his 
own  hand  cut  down  the  standard-bearer.  The  Spaniards  without 
more  ado  turned  heel  and  fled,  helter-skelter,  for  the  city.  As 
Thomas  Cates,  who  wrote  a  chronicle  of  the  fight,  modestly 
explains,  "  our  pikes  were  longer  than  theirs." 

The  British  tore  after  them  like  a  pack  of  baying  wolves.  The 
flying  crowd  made  an  attempt  to  stand  but  were  swept  down, 
so  that  the  men  of  the  long  pikes  had  to  leap  over  their  bodies. 
"  We  gave  them  no  leisure  to  breathe,"  says  Master  Cates  with 
great  relish.  In  a  moment  the  market-place  was  gained,  but  every 
street  leading  from  it  was  blocked  with  earthworks.  Over  these 
mounds  went  the  Spaniards  and  the  buccaneers  after  them,  as  if  it 
were  a  hurdle-race.  Behind  each  barricade  Indians  were  posted 
with  poisoned  arrows,  but  Drake's  men  jumped  on  their  backs  or 
their  heads  as  they  crouched,  and  gave  them  a  taste  of  the  long 
pikes  if  they  had  the  heart  to  stand.  Poisoned  stakes  had  been 
driven  into  the  ground  "  to  run  into  one's  feet,"  but  as  the 
Spaniards  stumbled  over  them  in  their  terror  the  pursuers  had 
something  soft  to  tread  upon. 

Women  hurled  stones,  pots,  and  jugs  out  of  windows ;  a 
musket  would  blaze  through  a  loophole  in  a  gate  ;  figures  in  night 
attire  crouched  in  archways  or  fled  into  the  gloom  shrieking 
wildly.  Every  dog  in  the  town  was  barking  as  if  possessed,  while 
drums  beat  the  alarm  without  ceasing.  Whenever  a  stand  was 
made  by  the  garrison  the  pikes  charged,  and  the  breathless 
Cartagenians,  scattered  and  bleeding,  bolted  down  dark  alleys  or 


352       THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP 

hid  under  carts.  In  one  of  these  street  fights  the  Spanish 
commander  was  taken  by  Captain  Goring,  "  after  the  said  captain 
had  first  hurt  him  with  his  sword."  This  is  gently  put,  for  the 
captain,  being  no  weakHng,  may  be  assumed  to  have  well-nigh 
cleft  the  commander  in  two  when  he  "  hurt  him." 

The  town  was  taken  and  taken  handsomely ;  the  fort  that  had 
defied  Frobisher  was  seized  and  blown  up,  and,  after  a  pleasant 
stay  in  Cartagena  of  six  weeks — during  which  time  Drake  enter- 
tained the  governor  and  bishop  at  dinner — that  officer  departed 
with  110,000  ducats  in  his  pocket. 

Another  interesting  attack  upon  Cartagena  was  made  in  1741 
by  Admiral  Vernon,  otherwise  known  as  "  Old  Grog,"  or  the  Hero 
of  Porto  Bello.  The  admiral,  after  he  had  sufficiently  enjoyed  his 
triumph  at  Porto  Bello  (page  342),  proceeded  to  Cartagena,  but 
found  that  city  by  no  means  in  a  yielding  mood.  The  Boca  Chica 
was  blocked  by  a  heavy  boom,  anchored  across  the  channel 
between  Fort  San  Fernando  and  Fort  San  Jose.  Moored  behind 
the  boom  were  four  very  solid  ships  of  the  line.  On  either  side  of 
the  entrance  numerous  entrenchments  had  been  thrown  up  to 
withstand  a  landing. 

The  land  forces  were  under  the  command  of  General  Went- 
worth.  The  general  and  the  admiral  spent  a  considerable  part  of 
each  day  in  quarrelling.  Wentworth  wanted  to  do  things  in  his 
own  way,  and  when  he  was  thwarted  he  was  apt  to  sulk.  Vernon, 
on  the  other  hand,  used  "  unbecoming  language "  to  Wentworth, 
and  was  generally  "  boisterous  and  overbearing,"  as  became  the 
hero  of  Porto  Bello.  In  spite  of  this  war  of  words  the  outposts  on 
either  side  of  the  Boca  Chica  were  taken  very  gallantly,  and  then 
the  bombardment  of  Fort  San  Fernando  began.  This  stronghold, 
which  mounted  no  less  than  eighty-two  cannons  and  three  mortars, 
was  finally  breached.  A  force  was  landed  and  the  fortress 
captured,  with  the  loss  of  only  one  man  on  the  side  of  the  English. 
The  Spanish  scuttled  three  of  the  ships  which  were  anchored 
behind  the  boom,  while  the  invaders  seized  the  fourth.  The  boom 
was  broken  up  and  the  fleet  sailed  into  the  harbour. 

On  April  i  (a  somewhat  appropriate  date)  Admiral  Vernon 


Cartagena 


i.{jj^ 


Boca    Grande 


CARTAGENA    HARBOUR.  353 

wrote  home  to  announce  that  he  had  captured  Fort  San  Fernando. 
Once  more  the  people  of  England  went  mad  with  excitement.  It 
was  Porto  Bello  all  over  again.  Ballads  were  composed,  and  sung 
in  the  streets,  with  the  refrain  "  Vernon  the  Scourge  of  Spain." 
More  medals  were  struck.  One  of  these  shows  the  Scourge  in  a 
kind  of  garden-party  dress,  strolling  boldly  in  front  of  the  city. 
On  the  rim  of  the  medal  is  the  inscription  "  ^Admiral  Vernon 
viewing  the  town  of  Carthagena."  ^  There  was  an  unrealised 
amount  of  truth  in  this  posy,  for  the  admiral  did  little  more  than 
view  the  city  during  his  sojourn.     He  never  captured  it. 

The  fleet  moved  up  into  the  Middle  Harbour.  The  Spaniards 
had  abandoned  the  Castillo  Grande,  had  blown  up  the  fort  on 
Manzanilla  point,  and  had  sunk  two  ships  in  the  channel,  according 
to  their  custom  on  these  occasions.  The  siege  of  the  town  went 
on  very  slowly,  as  Vernon  and  Wentworth  were  so  much  engaged 
in  fighting  between  themselves  that  they  had  little  time  to  devote 
to  the  Spaniards. 

One  month  after  the  fleet  had  appeared  off  the  Boca  Chica  a 
force  of  1500  men  was  landed  to  attack  Fort  San  Lazar — the  fort 
on  the  rocky  acropolis.  The  assault  was  made  just  before  day- 
break, but  affairs  at  headquarters  were  so  mismanaged  that  the 
English  were  repulsed  with  the  loss  of  179  killed,  459  wounded 
and  16  taken  prisoners.  During  the  progress  of  these  events 
yellow  fever  broke  out  in  the  fleet,  with  the  result  that  no  less 
than  500  men  died,  while  over  looo  were  lying  sick. 

A  final  council  of  war  was  held  on  the  flag-ship,  which  ended 
in  the  usual  manner.  Vernon,  after  more  "  unbecoming  language," 
dashed  out  of  the  cabin  in  a  rage,  slamming  the  door  after  him. 
The  land  forces  were  withdrawn  as  useless,  and  then  the  Scourge 
of  Spain  proceeded  to  show  the  world — and  especially  Wentworth 
— what  the  Navy  could  do,  unaided  and  alone.  The  perverse  old 
gentleman  warped  a  prize,  the  Galicia,  as  near  to  the  town  as 
he  could.  She  carried  sixteen  guns  and  was  fortified  with  earth 
and  sand.  The  Galicia  fired  fretfully  at  the  city  for  seven  long 
hours  by  the  cathedral  clock.     The  city,  of  course,  replied,  and 

'   The  Royal  Navy,  by  Laird  Clowes,  vol.  iii. 

A  A 


354  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

with  such  effect  that  the  poor  earth-laden  ship  was  riddled  with 
holes,  so  that  she  had  to  cut  her  cables  and  be  abandoned.  In 
this  fatuous  attempt  the  admiral  lost  sixty-two  stout  mariners. 

After  these  various  exhibitions  of  strength  the  Scourge  of 
Spain  pulled  up  his  anchors  and  sailed  out  into  the  Caribbean 
Sea. 


LXX. 

THE   CITY   OF   CARTAGENA. 

Cartagena,  the  sea-environed  city,  the  city  of  unforgotten 
centuries,  is  a  place  of  surprising  charm.  The  sun  and  the  wind 
have  bleached  it,  the  rain  has  dappled  the  sheltered  wall  with  tints 
of  madder  and  grey,  but  it  remains  yet  a  fine  memorial  of  the 
gorgeous  clays  of  Spain.  It  is,  indeed,  an  older-looking  Spanish 
town  than  any  in  Castile,  for  there  is  so  little  within  its  compass 
that  is  really  new.  It  is  like  a  piece  of  sumptuous  tapestry  which 
the  bungling  of  the  irreverent  needle  has  failed  to  spoil. 

An  immense  wall,  which  is  especially  formidable  along  the 
sea-front,  surrounds  the  city  on  all  sides.  This  wall,  where  it  has 
escaped  the  sun,  is  almost  black.  Curious  weeds  have  crept  over 
it,  while  plants  in  flower  and  even  bushes  grow  here  and  there  in 
the  gaps  between  the  stones.  It  is  made  strong  by  bastions  and 
outworks,  is  dignified  by  high  battlements  and  sentry  towers 
of  stone,  is  overshadowed  by  many  palms,  and  presents  within 
its  girth  steep  stairs  and  echoing  passages.  The  main  entrance 
to  the  city  is  through  a  handsome  gateway  of  yellow  stone, 
surmounted  by  a  steeple,  and  flanked  by  pillars.  It  presents  three 
openings — a  central  arch  for  the  mule  teams,  and  two  small  side 
entries  for  folk  who  walk.  These  lead  into  the  principal  square, 
the  Plaza  de  los  Coches,  where  the  houses  are  built  over  a  shady 
colonnade  of  many  arches  and  of  no  mean  age.  In  the  shadows 
of  this  passage  are  incongruous  shops,  gay  with  the  tints  of  bright 
shawls  and  silks,  or  of  tropical  fruits.  It  is  a  place  too  for  the 
hot,  drowsy  bodega,  with  its  casks,  its  tables  and  benches,  as  well 
as  for  the  lolling  cigarette-smoker  whom  one  would  not  be 
surprised  to  find  clad  as  a  toreador. 

A  A  2 


356  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

The  narrow  streets  when  in  shade  are  as  dark  as  a  way  in  a 
wood,  but  when  the  sun  pours  along  them  they  are  dazzling  to 
discomfort.  The  roads  are  for  the  most  part  ruinous  and  full  of 
ruts  and  holes.  They  are  muffled  as  to  sound,  however,  owing  to 
the  custom  of  throwing  odd  garbage  into  the  street,  as  well  as  to 
the  fact  that  not  a  few  are  as  thick  in  sand  and  dust  as  a  dry 
beach.  This  dust  is  apt  to  be  converted  into  mud  by  the  copious 
slop-water  which  the  housewife  empties  into  the  road.  A  few 
carts  creak  and  groan  through  the  town,  but  most  of  those  who 
ride  ride  on  donkeys  or  mules,  and  on  the  mule  pack  much  of  the 
merchandise  of  the  place  is  carried.  There  is  little,  therefore,  to 
break  the  silence  of  the  road  but  the  patter  of  hoofs,  the  laughter 
of  handsome  Spanish  women  who  lean  from  verandahs,  the  clatter 
of  a  cracked  church  bell,  or  the  twang  of  a  guitar. 

The  houses  are  mostly  of  two  stories,  with  white  or  yellow 
walls,  or  walls  of  a  dubious  colour  that  would  be  called  "  faded." 
They  are  in  various  stages  of  decay,  so  that  it  would  seem  as  if  the 
dust  in  the  street  might  be  due  to  fallen  plaster  and  crumbling 
stone.  The  buildings,  large  or  small,  are  very  lavish  in  balconies, 
which  are  often  of  bright  tints,  showing,  it  may  be,  a  green  roof, 
a  lilac  wall,  and  white  railings.  Some  are  most  beautifully 
carved  ;  while  the  many  which  are  of  stone  or  ancient  iron-work 
are  remarkably  picturesque.  In  certain  of  the  narrower  lanes  the 
balconies  on  opposite  sides  of  the  way  project  so  far  as  almost  to 
meet  overhead.  Curious  bow  windows  supported  on  white  stone 
corbels  are  common,  as  also  are  window  gratings  or  grilles  of 
metal  or  elaborate  wood-work.  Stone  gateways  closed  by  heavy 
doors  knobbed  with  brass  are  come  upon,  as  well  as  lofty 
buildings  which  would  have  been  palaces  when  the  city  was  in  its 
glory.  Here  and  there  is  a  peep  into  a  courtyard  with  green 
bushes  in  it,  a  shaded  well,  and  a  little  balcony  looking  down 
upon  the  quiet  of  it  all.  An  unexpected  tower  will  be  met  with, 
or  a  fort  which  has  been  turned  into  a  dwelling-house,  or  an 
arcade  of  fine  pillars  with  no  apparent  reason  for  its  existence. 

High  above  all,  against  the  hard  sky,  are  the  ample  roofs  of  a 
tropical  city,  brown  roofs  and  red  roofs,  whose  covering  of  tiles  is 


THE   CITY   OF   CARTAGENA.  357 

as  deeply  ridged  as  is  a  newly  ploughed  field,  and  whose  colour  is 
enhanced  in  many  spots  by  the  green  crest  of  a  palm  tree.  There 
are  several  ancient  churches  in  the  city,  certain  of  which  are 
remarkably  beautiful.  The  old  cathedral  is  worth  a  long  journey 
to  see.  It  contains  a  hundred  features  of  interest,  from  the  great 
studded  door  to  the  magnificent  altar-piece.  It  affords,  better 
than  any  other  building  in  Cartagena,  some  conception  of  the 
hauteur  and  wealth  of  Spain  when  she  was  the  mistress  of  the 
New  World. 

The  Fort  San  Lazar,  which  resisted  the  attack  of  Admiral 
Vernon  in  1741,  is  outside  the  walls,  on  the  level  ground  between 
the  city  and  La  Popa  Hill.  It  is  placed  on  the  crown  of  an 
isolated,  rocky  hill  125  feet  in  height.  The  sides  are  heavily 
scarped  and  show  two  tiers  of  stone  w^orks.  The  place  was 
described  in  Vernon's  time  as  a  square  fort,  having  three 
demi-bastions,  two  guns  on  each  face,  one  on  each  flank,  and 
three  in  each  curtain.  It  is  now  a  deserted,  crumbling  and 
picturesque  ruin.  The  ramparts,  reached  by  a  steep  rock  road, 
are  built  of  narrow  red  bricks,  covered  with  plaster  or  faced  with 
stone.  The  platform  on  the  summit  is  almost  filled  with  bushes 
and  weeds.  Here  is  a  solid  guard-room,  a  glum,  black  mass, 
with  an  immensely  thick  roof.  At  the  corners  of  the  square 
are  sentry  towers,  each  surmounted  by  a  cupola.  Brick  stairs 
lead  down  to  a  tunnel  cut  in  the  rock,  which  passage  opens  upon 
the  lower  platform  of  the  fortress. 

The  view  from  the  parapets  is  most  fascinating.  To  the  south 
are  the  harbour  with  the  water  battery.  Fort  Pastelillo,  at  the 
mouth  of  its  inner  basin,  Drake's  Spit  and  the  narrows  near  the 
Boca  Grande.  To  the  east  are  La  Popa  and  its  convent.  To 
the  west  lies,  at  one's  feet,  the  whole  of  the  walled  city  of 
Cartagena,  a  marvellous  spectacle  to  contemplate.  Beyond  and 
far  to  the  north  is  the  sea. 

It  would  have  been  good  to  have  stood  on  this  hill  when 
Drake  sailed  by  in  1573,  '^^  ^""^^  ^"^^Y  ^'^  Plymouth  after  his 
successful  foray.  In  the  harbour  at  that  time  were  lying  the 
great  Plate   ships   and   their  convoy  of  men-of-war  on   the  eve 


358  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

of  departing  for  Spain.  Drake,  out  of  .sheer  devilment  and 
buoyancy  of  spirits,  must  needs  stand  close  in,  and  "  then  run 
by  before  the  whole  fleet  with  the  flag  of  St.  George  waving 
defiance  at  his  masthead,  and  his  silken  pennants  and  ensigns 
floating  down  to  the  water  to  bid  them  a  mocking  farewell."  ^ 

'  Sh-  Francis  Drake,  by  Julian  Corbett,  page  46  :  London,  1901. 


LXXI. 

OFF   TO   THE    FRONT. 

The  next  place  touched  at  after  Cartagena  is  Puerto  Colombia 
A  spot  less  dull  is  hardly  to  be  conceived.  It  consists  of  a  long, 
bulbous-ended  pier  which  has  been  shot  out  into  the  blue  like 
a  chameleon's  tongue.  The  pier  is  embellished  with  a  railway, 
and  at  its  land  extremity  is  a  small,  depressed  village.  These 
objects  deposited  in  a  barren  and  featureless  bay  represent  Puerto 
Colombia, 

Made  fast  to  the  pier,  however,  was  an  object  of  considerable 
interest.  It  was  a  gun-boat  belonging  to  the  Republic  of  Colombia. 
Certain  hasty  and  thoughtless  passengers  mistook  this  battleship 
at  first  sight  for  a  tramp  steamer.  The  commander  or  admiral 
was  an  Englishman.  He  had  done  his  best  to  bring  the  vessel 
up  to  British  conceptions  of  trimness,  but  at  the  moment  the  work 
was  one  which  might  have  daunted  Hercules  after  his  experience 
of  the  Augean  stables.  The  presence  of  the  man-of-war  was  due 
to  the  fact  that  a  revolution  was  pending  or  in  actual  progress,  and 
troops  were  in  consequence  being  hurried  to  the  front.  Indeed 
the  last  contingent  of  150  men  were  about  to  embark  that  ver}- 
evening. 

In  a  while  the  150  soldiers  made  their  appearance.  They 
came  up  to  the  pier-head  by  train  in  open  trucks.  Out 
of  the  trucks  they  tumbled,  and  lined  up  on  the  landing  stage 
to  await  the  roll-call.  It  is  worthy  to  note  that  these  men, 
although  just  off  to  the  front,  were  not  only  all  sober  but 
all  very  quiet.  So  far  as  any  enthusiasm  was  concerned  they 
might  have  been  on  their  way  to  gaol.     They  were  a  mixture  of 


36o  THE    CRADLE   OF   THE    DEEP. 

Mulattoes  and  white  men,  and,  in  the  point  of  physique,  were 
a  very  presentable  body  of  young  fellows.  There  was  nothing 
military  about  them,  nor  did  they  appear  to  have  been  at  any  time 
over-troubled  by  drilling. 

They  wore  the  ordinary  every-day  dress  of  the  streets  and 
the  fields.  Some  had  donned  cotton  jackets,  some  blouses  or 
"jumpers,"  a  few  paraded  in  cloth  coats.  One  man  was  con- 
spicuous in  what  had  evidently  been  a  tweed  suit,  while  another 
looked  very  smart  in  an  old  black  dinner  jacket.  In  the  matter  of 
trousers  also  the  regiment  served  to  demonstrate  how  greatly 
fashion  and  individual  tastes  may  vary  in  the  matter  of  clothes. 
Some  wore  slippers,  others  the  shoe  of  the  country,  and  a  few  the 
common  European  boot.  Straw  hats  were  evidently  more  or  less 
en  regie,  although  a  number  of  the  men-at-arms  wore  rakish  felt 
hats  or  sombreros.  They  of  course  all  carried  firearms.  Many 
of  these  weapons  were  of  interest  by  reason  of  their  antiquity. 
Taken  together  they  would  have  formed  a  fairly  exhaustive 
display  illustrative  of  the  evolution  of  the  modern  rifle  from  its 
rude  beginnings.  Some  of  the  soldiers  carried  their  ammunition 
in  bandoliers,  but  the  larger  number  used  pouches  or  bags — game 
bags,  fishing  bags,  school  bags. 

String  was  very  largely  employed  in  the  equipment  of  these 
soldiers,  and  indeed  without  string  the  more  fragmentary  of  the 
men  would  have  fallen  to  pieces.  Their  badges  of  rank,  however, 
were  attached  to  their  arms  by  means  of  pins,  string  not  being 
efficient  for  this  purpose.  The  men  who  were  most  anxious  to 
make  themselves  really  dashing  carried  towels  round  their  necks. 
Each  warrior  was  encumbered  by  a  bundle  in  which  were  a  mat, 
a  blanket,  and,  I  assume,  a  change  of  raiment.  Many,  however, 
had  added  to  the  bundle  a  kettle  or  a  cooking  pot,  a  bottle  or  two 
suspended  by  strings  or  a  guitar.  These  defenders  of  their  country 
looked  indeed  rather  like  a  parcel  of  lads  just  off  to  a  boys'  holiday 
camp. 

The  officer  in  charge  of  the  company  was  a  remarkable  person, 
of  astounding  activity  and  red-hot  military  zeal.  On  his  head  was 
a  large  Panama  hat,  fixed  to  his  coat  by  means  of  a  heavy  string. 


OFF   TO    THE    FRONT.  361 

He  wore  black  dress  trousers.  On  his  feet  were  brown  shoes  such 
as  may  have  graced  the  sands  of  Blackpool.  The  chief  item  of 
his  costume,  however,  was  a  bright  blue  jacket,  adorned  with 
immense  frogs  fashioned  out  of  black  braid.  This  coat  had 
evidently  been  obtained  either  from  a  circus  master  or  the  con- 
ductor of  a  seaside  band.  It  was  the  kind  of  tunic  usually  worn 
by  lion-tamers.  The  officer  had  a  large  bath  towel  round  his 
neck  with  which  he  occasionally  mopped  his  face,  as  the  weather 
was  very  hot.  From  a  luggage  strap  across  his  shoulder  was 
suspended  a  lady's  hand-bag,  or  reticule,  in  brown  leather.  Had 
it  not  been  distinctly  a  lady's  bag  it  would  have  suggested  the 
pouch  in  which  a  bus  conductor  carries  his  coppers.  This  was 
no  doubt  a  sort  of  sabretache  for  carrying  dispatches  and  the 
like. 

It  remains  to  be  mentioned  that,  attached  by  string  to  his 
"  suspenders  " — which  were  very  conspicuous — this  leader  of  men 
wore  a  rapier,  or  slender  sword,  with  a  gilded  handle,  such  as 
is  carried  at  levees  in  England.  This  weapon  was  no  doubt  ob- 
tained from  the  same  source  as  the  lion-tamer's  tunic.  Although 
quite  hoarse  with  previous  shouting  the  officer,  thus  equipped  for 
active  service,  gave  his  orders  with  explosive  vigour.  He  even 
addressed  the  men  with  no  little  spirit  and  emotion,  wiping  his 
face  with  the  bath  towel  between  each  eloquent  period.  He  was 
probably  on  the  theme  of  "  death  or  glory,"  and  was  making  such 
references  to  "  hearths  and  homes  "  as  are  applicable  to  the  tropics 
where  there  are  no  fireplaces.  It  was  a  relief  to  the  onlookers  that 
he  did  not  draw  his  levee-dress  sword  in  order  to  point  the  way 
to  victory,  for  as  he  had  a  practice  of  waving  his  arms  like  a 
semaphore  he  might  have  done  some  hurt. 

The  concluding  item  of  the  parade,  before  the  fighting  men 
actually  started  for  the  front,  was  the  roll-call.  The  officer  had 
the  names  written  down  in  a  penny  account-book,  from  which  he 
read  with  precision,  glancing  up  inquiringly  after  each  name  had 
been  jerked  forth.  None  having  been  found  wanting  he  made  a 
graceful  bow,  as  if  he  had  just  sung  a  song,  dropped  the  account 
book  into  the  hand-bag,  and  retired  behind  a  crane  to  mop  his  face 


362  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

with  a  thoroughness  which  had  been  denied  him  while  in   the 
pubHc  gaze. 

It  was  interesting  to  think  that  these  soldiers  were  the 
successors,  and  possibly  in  some  cases  the  descendants,  of  the 
very  men  who  had  defended  the  Spanish  Main  against  Drake  and 
Morgan,  who  had  convoyed  the  mule  trains,  and  who  had  fought 
behind  the  stockades  at  Nombre  de  Dios  and  the  walls  of 
Cartagena. 


LXXII. 

THE   SARGASSO  SEA. 

After  leaving  Puerto  Colombia  the  steamer  touches  at  La 
Guayra,  where  was  "  the  low  white  house,  two  or  three  hundred 
feet  up  the  steep  mountain  side,"  where  Amyas  Leigh  and  his 
brother  had  word  with  the  Rose  of  Torridge.  The  ship  puts  in 
again  at  Trinidad  and  Barbados,  and  then  shapes  her  course  for 
home.  "  Home !  "  as  Hawkins  once  wished,  "  with  a  good  large 
wind."  "  Home  !  "  as  Drake  once  cried,  "  for  our  voyage  is  made." 
We  are  to  call  at  the  Azores  on  the  way  to  England,  and  so 
must  pass  across  the  Sargasso  Sea,  This  remarkable  piece  of 
water  lies  in  the  centre  of  the  North  Atlantic,  a  tideless  pool 
almost  equal  in  area  to  the  continent  of  Europe.  It  lies  encircled 
by  the  Great  Equatorial  Current  and  the  Gulf  Stream,  which  ever 
sweep  around  its  untroubled  depths.  It  is  an  oasis  in  the  heart  of 
the  whirling  ocean,  a  place  of  sanctuary,  a  dead  sea.  Its  name  is 
derived  from  the  curious  amber-coloured  weed,  the  sargasso,  with 
which  its  surface  is  covered  and  through  which  the  steamer 
ploughs  its  way.  The  weed  carries  a  number  of  grape-like  berries 
on  its  branches,  while  each  clump  affords  a  shelter  to  endless 
parasites,  to  minute  fishes  and  tiny  crabs.  The  source  of  this 
strange,  wandering,  rootless  plant  is  not  fully  known.  It  is  cast 
into  the  pool  by  the  Gulf  Stream  as  it  hurries  northwards.  Some 
believe  that  the  sargasso  is  torn  from  the  rocks  about  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico,  from  the  shores  of  Florida  and  the  Bahamas,  and  that  it 
is  drawn  from  the  Stream  into  the  great  still  eddy.  Others  affirm 
that  the  weed — whatever  its  origin — grows  and  multiplies  in  tlie 
sea  in  the  course  of  its  aimless  drifting  to  and  fro.  The  largest 
collection  of  the  plant  is  found  just  south-west  of  the  Azores,  and 
those  who  maintain  its  source  to  be  from  the  land  state  that  it 


364  THE    CRADLE    OF   THE    DEEP. 

will  need  six  months  to  float  from  Florida  to  these  far-away 
islands. 

This  weed-strewn  sea  seemed  strangely  beautiful  as  we  made 
our  way  across  it.  The  light-blue  sky  was  edged  along  the 
horizon  with  countless  fleecy  clouds.  There  came  from  the  south 
a  gentle  following  wind.  The  water  was  a  deep  indigo  colour, 
every  wrinkle,  curve  and  dip  of  which  was  polished  bright  as  if  its 
surface  were  moulded  out  of  purple  metal.  Here  and  there  a  fleck 
of  white  foam  marked  the  summit  of  an  ocean  furrow.  The  weed 
when  first  seen  appeared  in  the  form  of  long  bright  lines  of  plum 
yellow,  streaking  the  blue  and  following  the  trend  of  the  wind. 
In  a  while  the  streaks  turned  into  clusters  or  islands,  which  made 
an  amber  dome  on  the  crest  of  the  wave  and  an  amber  cup  in 
its  hollow.  These  masses  varied  from  a  few  feet  to  a  few  yards 
across,  and  they  floated  past  like  floes  of  yellow  ice.  The  in- 
dividual weeds,  when  examined  closer,  looked  fresh  and  brilliant, 
so  that  the  whole  sea  might  have  been  littered  with  a  drift  of  cut 
flowers.  Further  on  were  larger  islets  that  covered  an  acre  or 
more,  great  sponge-coloured  tracts  whose  undulating  ridges 
sparkled  in  the  sun.  One  writer  has  compared  these  floating 
fields  to  an  inundated  meadow  full  of  yellow  flowers,  and  the 
comparison  is  very  apt' 

Other  things  than  weeds  find  their  way  into  this  stagnant  pool. 
The  Sargasso  Sea  is  haunted  by  derelict  ships  that  have  lost  both 
master  and  men,  and  that,  with  none  to  guide  them,  wander  blindly 
through  the  waste  of  weed,  like  weary  ghosts  seeking  a  harbour 
that  is  never  gained.  In  this  ocean  purgatory  they  drift  uneasily, 
round  and  round  the  seasons  through,  in  piteous  circles  until  at 
last  the  ocean  takes  them  to  itself 

In  the  book  just  referred  to  is  a  chart  of  the  courses  followed  by 
these  sad  craft,  as  noted,  from  time  to  time,  by  passing  ships. 
Some  of  these  outcasts  have  wandered  here  for  long.  One  schooner, 
the  F.  E.  Wolston,  cruised  to  and  fro  about  this  sea  for  at  least 
three  years.^      The  Gulf  Stream  would    take   her   in    its   warm 

•  North  Atlantic  Directory,  by  A.  G.  Findlay  :   London,  1895. 

•  From  1 89 1  to  1894. 


THE   SARGASSO   SEA.  365 

embrace  and  carry  her  gently  away  to  the  north.  Then  the  Trade 
Wind  would  seize  her  and  hurry  her  south  again,  to  within  sight 
of  the  palms  and  the  coral  reefs.  She  has  rested  for  days  in 
the  hush  of  a  tropic  calm,  motionless  as  a  sleeping  bird.  She  has 
fled  wildly  across  the  deep  before  a  gale,  like  a  tormented  soul 
chased  by  revengeful  spirits.  She  has  sighted  many  a  living  ship 
as  it  passed  by,  trim  and  bustling,  with  cheery  passengers  leaning 
over  the  rail,  and  sailors  yarning  by  the  foc'sle  gangway.  The 
smug  captain,  after  a  long  look  through  his  glasses,  has  stepped 
into  the  chart  room  to  enter  the  name  of  the  poor  homeless  waif 
in  the  log,  and  the  place  of  his  meeting  with  her. 

Think  of  the  ghostly  schooner  speeding  along  before  a  gentle 
breeze  on  a  moonlight  night !  Her  masts  and  her  broken  spars 
are  so  white  that  they  may  be  made  of  ice.  The  shining  grass  on 
her  hull  flashes  in  the  light  as  if  she  were  sheathed  in  emerald. 
The  shadows  of  her  jagged  bulwarks  stretch  across  decks 
where  never  is  heard  the  footstep  of  man.  The  moonlight  falls 
upon  the  cabin  stair,  upon  the  table  under  the  skylight,  upon  the 
swinging  lamp.  The  locker  doors  open  and  shut  as  the  vessel 
heels  over,  the  pilot  jacket  hanging  from  a  peg  is  green  with 
mould,  while  in  the  water  which  washes  to  and  fro  on  the  cabin 
floor  is  floating  the  captain's  pipe. 

On  the  deck  are  ever  the  moan  of  the  creaking  rudder,  the 
thud  of  a  block  against  the  mast,  the  clatter  of  a  kettle  tossing 
loose  in  the  cook's  galley,  and  from  all  the  black  hollows  of  the 
ship  comes  the  groaning  of  rotten  timbers.  The  compass  in  the 
binnacle  points  now  N.E.,  now  E.,  now  S.W.  by  S.,  now  S.  With 
each  shift  of  the  wind  the  vessel  turns  over  wearily,  while  the 
water  spurts  out  from  her  weather  planks. 

The  last  call  comes  on  some  wild  day  when  the  terror  of  the 
gale  is  upon  her,  as  she  flies  down  the  path  of  the  wind.  The  seas 
chase  her  like  a  pack  of  hounds,  until  in  the  end  a  great  white 
wave,  majestic  and  terrible,  falls  like  an  executioner's  axe  upon 
her  quaking  deck  and  her  "  voyage  is  made."  When  the  storm 
lifts,  it  may  be  that  a  wreath  of  golden  weed  will  mark  for  a  while 
the  spot  beneath  which  she  rests. 


366       THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP. 


LXXHI. 

THE   VANISHING   ISLAND   AND   THE   GIANT   WHO   DIED   TWICE. 

As  the  Azores  are  approached  the  steamer  traverses  that  ocean 
area  which  was  the  favourite  haunt  of  the  Vanishing  Island,  This 
island,  so  full  of  interest  to  the  ancient  mariner,  was  less  definite 
or  more  careless  as  to  its  precise  position  than  are  most  tracks  of 
land.  In  a  French  chart,  bearing  the  date  1755,  it  is  placed  in 
latitude  29°  N.  and  longitude  25°  W.  It  was  called,  for  reasons 
which  will  be  explained  later,  the  Isle  of  St.  Brandum,  or 
St.  Borondam.  It  was  a  mountainous  island  of  great  physical 
attractions  and  of  some  ninety  leagues  in  length.  Considering  its 
massive  size  it  was  curiously  shy,  for  it  almost  invariably  vanished 
when  approached  by  strangers.  Some  suppose  that  it  flew  away, 
like  a  leaf  in  a  wind  ;  others  were  content  to  affirm  that  it  merely 
disappeared.  The  matter-of-fact  John  Sparke,  who  was  one  of 
Hawkins'  companions  in  the  voyage  of  1564,  writes,  "About  these 
parts  are  certain  flitting  islands,  which  have  been  often-times  seen, 
and  when  men  approached  near  them  they  vanished."  Sparke 
reverently  adds,  "  it  would  seem  that  he  is  not  yet  born  to  whom 
God  hath  appointed  the  finding  of  them." 

Innumerable  honest  folk  had,  however,  seen  St  Brandum. 
Among  them  was  Alonzo  de  Espinosa,  the  governor  of  Ferro. 
He  issued  a  statement,  supported  by  the  testimony  of  no  less 
than  a  hundred  reliable  witnesses,  that  he  had  observed  the  island 
forty  leagues  to  the  north-west  of  Ferro,  and,  more  than  that,  that 
he  and  certain  of  his  friends  had  watched  the  sun  set  behind  one 
of  its  capes. 

It  was  in  every  way  a  most  desirable  island  to  visit.  In  the 
first  place  it  was  the  retreat  of  King  Rodrigo,  which  many  were 


THE   VANISHING   ISLAND.  367 

curious  to  see.  It  contained  besides  the  beautiful  palace  and 
pleasure  gardens  of  Armida.  Readers  of  Tasso's  "Jerusalem 
Delivered"  will  remember  that  when  the  crusaders  reached  the 
Holy  City,  Satan  employed  this  lady,  who  was  a  professional 
sorceress,  to  abduct  Rinaldo,  the  valiant  leader.  Rinaldo  was  led 
away  by  Armida  to  this  very  island,  amidst  the  delights  of  which 
he  forgot  his  vow,  and  the  object  to  which  he  had  devoted  his  life. 
To  rid  him  of  the  lady  two  soldiers  from  the  Christian  army, 
named  Carlo  and  Ubaldo,  were  dispatched  to  the  island,  which 
seems  then  to  have  been  much  less  timid  than  it  was  in  later 
years.  They  took  with  them  a  talisman  so  exceedingly  powerful, 
or  of  such  voltage,  that  the  witchcraft  of  Armida  became  as 
nought.  Rinaldo  returned,  performed  very  fearful  feats  of  arms, 
persuaded  Armida  to  become  a  Christian,  and  so  all  ended  well. 
Whether  it  was  in  consequence  of  this  visit  of  Carlo  and  Ubaldo 
that  the  island  became  suspicious  and  took  to  vanishing  on  the 
approach  of  strangers  is  not  known. 

More  definite  details  of  St.  Brandum  are  furnished  by  a 
Portuguese  observer,  one  Pedro  Velio.  This  Pedro  was  a  pilot 
who  had  the  good  fortune  to  take  the  coy  island  by  surprise  and 
actually  land  upon  it.  He  saw  on  the  sands,  as  he  stepped  ashore, 
the  prints  of  gigantic  human  feet,  at  least  twice  the  size  of  a 
man's.  This  was  most  important  evidence,  which  fully  corrobo- 
rated certain  details  in  the  earlier  history  of  the  settlement. 
Velio  also  found  on  the  beach  a  cross  nailed  to  a  tree,  the  ashes  of 
a  fire,  and  the  usual  properties  with  which  most  mysterious  islands 
are  furnished.  Two  of  his  men  wandered  into  the  woods,  either 
in  search  of  Armida's  garden  or  at  least  of  a  tavern  patronised  by 
the  giants.  They  had  not  been  long  away  when  a  breeze  sprang 
up.  Pedro  Velio,  after  whistling  and  shouting,  was  reluctantly 
compelled  to  push  his  boat  off  and  make  for  the  ship.  He  had  no 
sooner  stepped  on  board  than,  turning  round,  he  perceived  to  his 
horror  that  the  island  had  disappeared.  It  does  not  seem  to  have 
either  sunk  into  the  sea  or  to  have  flown  away  into  the  air.  It 
simply  was  not.  As  nothing  whatever  was  to  be  seen  of  the 
two  men,  it  is  clear  that  they  must  have  become  transparent  or 


368  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

at  least  soluble  at  the  moment  that  the  Island  faded  ;  otherwise 
they  must  have  been  seen,  for  an  appreciable  second,  as  two  black 
dots  against  the  now  unobstructed  horizon.  The  disconsolate 
Pedro  Velio  sailed  to  and  fro  for  days  searching  for  the  island  but 
he  never  came  upon  it,  nor  did  he  find  any  material  of  note 
floating  upon  the  sea.  It  would  have  been  a  great  comfort  to  him 
if  only  he  could  have  picked  up  the  hats  his  two  lost  men  were 
wearing. 

Many  expeditions — some  of  them  very  costly  and  elaborate — 
were  sent  out  from  Europe  in  search  of  St.  Brandum,  but  the 
adventurers  were  never  blessed  by  a  sight  of  its  diffident  shores, 
although  the  captain  of  the  last  exploring  party,  Don  Caspar 
Dominguez,  took  with  him  two  holy  friars,  in  case  Satan  should 
be  in  any  way  concerned  with  the  island's  behaviour. 

It  is  curious  that  this  very  part  of  the  world,  which  has  been 
geographically  so  much  favoured,  should  have  been  the  habitat 
of  another  vanishing  island  of  unimpeachable  character  and 
undoubted  bona  fides.  Just  off  the  most  westerly  point  of 
St.  Michael's — a  point  passed  by  the  steamer — there  is  marked 
in  the  chart  a  shoal,  showing  fifteen  fathoms  of  water  on  it,  called 
the  Sabrina  Shoal.  On  the  night  of  February  i,  1811,  the 
inhabitants  of  the  west  end  of  St.  Michael's  were  awakened  by 
the  sound  of  a  fearful  explosion  at  sea,  while  those  who  were 
within  sight  of  the  point  saw  rise  out  of  the  ocean  a  column  of 
fire  and  cinders,  together  with  an  immense  cloud  of  smoke  and 
of  flying  ash.  Inquisitive  boatmen  who  rowed  over  the  site 
of  this  strange  manifestation,  when  all  was  still  again,  picked  up 
dead  and  broiled  fish. 

On  June  12,  181 1,  H.M.  sloop  Sabrina,  when  cruising  off 
St.  Michael's,  witnessed  clouds  of  smoke  rising  from  the  sea  near 
the  west  of  the  island.  The  captain  of  the  sloop  was  filled  with 
joy  when  to  the  smoke  was  added  a  noise  as  of  cannon.  He  felt 
assured  that  an  engagement  was  in  progress,  and  set  all  sail  upon 
his  ship  in  the  hope  that  he  might  reach  the  scene  of  the  engage- 
ment in  time  to  take  part  therein.  The  deck  was  cleared  for 
action    and  the   guns  run  out.     On    nearing  the   spot,  however, 


THE   VANISHING    ISLAND.  369 

there  was  only  to  be  seen  an  immense  body  of  smoke  revolving 
on  the  water  horizontally  in  varied  and  tortured  convolutions. 
Suddenly  out  of  these  coils  shot  up  a  hideous  column  of  water, 
stones,  cinders  and  steam,  attended  by  loud  explosions  and  the 
flashing  of  lightning.  It  was  evident  that  they  had  come  upon 
a  submarine  volcano.  The  phenomena  continued  and  by  June  14, 
to  the  delight  of  the  curious,  the  mouth  of  a  crater,  still  belching 
fire  and  cinders,  rose  out  of  the  sea.  It  rose  until  it  attained  the 
height  of  twenty  feet.  By  June  16  the  crater — which  was  as 
active  as  ever — had  reached  an  altitude  of  150  feet. 

The  Sabring  was  compelled  to  proceed  on  her  mission — which 
was  not  that  of  watching  volcanoes — but  came  back  to  the  same 
spot  again  on  July  4.  She  then  found  a  complete  volcanic 
island,  quiet  and  pleasant  to  look  upon,  for  nothing  but  a  faint 
steam  now  rose  from  its  peak.  The  height  of  the  island  had 
increased  to  250  feet.  The  captain  and  some  of  the  officers 
landed,  stepping  out  of  the  boat  upon  a  narrow  beach  of  ashes. 
It  must  have  been  a  moment  never  to  be  forgotten.  They  found 
the  shore  steep  and  the  ground  hot,  while  those  who  had  the 
curiosity  to  climb  up  to  the  edge  of  the  crater  reported  that 
the  same  was  filled  with  steaming  water.  The  captain  walked 
round  the  newly  born  island  with  the  assurance  that,  so  far  as 
this  piece  of  the  world  was  concerned,  he  was  the  first  man. 
It  was  an  afternoon  walk  without  a  parallel.  Some  time  after 
the  sloop  had  sailed  away  the  island  suddenly  vanished  into  the 
sea,  leaving  nothing  to  mark  its  site  but  the  Sabrina  Shoal, 
which  lies  now  no  less  than  ninety  feet  below  the  level  of  the 
ocean. 

The  vanishing  island  of  the  Middle  Ages  came  by  its  name 
of  St.  Brandum  after  this  manner.  In  the  sixth  century  an  Irish 
abbot  named  St.  Brandum,  a  man  of  very  exceptional  piety,  left 
Limerick  or  Galway,  or  some  such  town,  for  the  purpose  of  dis- 
covering the  islands  of  Paradise.  On  this  voyage  the  devout 
Irishman  was  accompanied  by  his  favourite  disciple,  St.  Malo, 
who  was  an  enthusiast  filled  with  the  missionary  spirit.  They 
landed  on  an  island  in  these  waters.     The  first  thing  that  St.  Mala 

B  B 


370  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

came  upon,  after  stepping  out  of  the  boat,  was  a  sepulchre  con- 
taining the  body  of  a  dead  giant.  Without  being  in  any  way 
surprised  at  this  uncommon  "object  of  the  sea-shore,"  he  proceeded 
at  once  to  resuscitate  the  deceased  native. 

The  dead  man  moved  in  a  while,  lifted  his  head,  stared  about 
him,  and  began  to  ask  "  where  he  was."  Being  reassured  by  the 
disciple  he  crawled  out  of  the  sepulchre  and  sat  down  on  the  sand, 
arranging  his  scanty  grave  clothes  about  him  with  a  proper 
modesty.  He  yawned  heavily,  no  doubt,  and  rubbed  his  eyes, 
blinking  the  while  for  the  sun  was  bright.  He  would  like  to  have 
heard  how  things  had  gone  on  in  his  household  and  in  the  village 
since  his  death,  but  St.  Malo  would  talk  of  nothing  but  religion. 
He  put  the  poor,  famished  giant  through  a  catechism  which  would 
have  daunted  a  student  of  divinity.  It  is  stated  that,  in  the 
progress  of  this  discourse,  St.  Malo  obtained  from  the  giant  the 
admission  that  the  islanders  had  some  notions  of  the  Trinity,  and 
was  gratified  to  find  that  the  great  man  himself  was  sound  in  his 
views  as  to  the  torments  reserved  in  Hell  for  Jews  and  Pagans. 
It  is  to  be  assumed  that  this  highly  specialised  conversation 
was  conducted  in  Erse  or  Ancient  Irish.  After  an  harangue  on 
the  doctrines  of  Christianity  which  lasted  many  hours  St.  Malo 
succeeded  in  converting  the  giant,  and  at  once  baptised  him  in  the 
name  of  Mildum. 

One  gathers  from  the  records  of  this  mission  that  Mildum  soon 
became  bored  almost  to  tears.  He  found,  one  may  infer,  that 
things  had  not  gone  on  after  his  death  quite  as  he  expected.  His 
friends  had  fled  to  the  hills,  his  secret  store  of  liquor  had  been 
looted,  and  his  hut  was  practically  up  for  sale.  Moreover  wherever 
he  went  he  would  be  sure  to  meet  St.  Malo,  who  would  at  once 
insist  upon  addressing  him,  "  in  a  few  words,"  upon  such  topics 
as  Transubstantiation,  Original  Sin,  and  the  Authority  of  the 
Church. 

At  the  end  of  fifteen  days  Mildum  could  stand  this  no  longer. 
So  he  went  to  St.  Malo,  hat  in  hand,  and,  while  thanking  him  for 
all  he  had  done  during  this  improving  fortnight,  begged  that  he 
might  be  allowed  to  die  again.     St  Malo  was  not  hurt  by  the 


THE   GIANT   WHO   DIED   TWICE.  371 

request.  He  ascribed  it  to  a  creditable  eagerness  on  Mildum's 
part  to  see  those  Heavens  to  which  he  now  had  access  by  reason 
of  his  conversion.  He  accordingly  gave  his  permission  for  the 
giant's  second  decease. 

With  a  smile  of  relief  Mildum  said  "  Good-bye !  "  and  walked 
back  to  the  sepulchre  which  he  had  already  put  in  order.  Here, 
kicking  off  his  shoes  and  begging  St.  Malo  to  kindly  arrange  the 
stone  as  he  found  it,  he  crept  in  and  settled  himself  down,  with 
a  sigh  of  great  satisfaction,  to  resume  that  sleep  which  the  well- 
meaning  Irishman  had  so  rudely  interrupted. 


372       THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP 


LXXIV. 

"THE  SOUGH   OF  AN   OLD  SONG." 

St.  Michael's  presents  itself  as  a  long  island  with  volcanic  hills 
at  either  end,  and  in  the  centre  a  wide  monotonous  slope  sweeping 
down  to  the  sea,  at  the  foot  of  which  lies  the  town  of  Ponta 
Delgada.  The  town  is  a  tumbled  mass  of  white  blocks,  which, 
when  seen  from  a  distance,  may  be  a  drift  of  chalk  and  red  sand- 
stone piled  up  along  the  shore.  The  slope  behind  it  is  dotted 
with  white  houses,  which  appear  as  if  they  were  in  process  of  being 
washed  down  the  incline  to  join  the  general  heap  at  the  bottom. 

The  delightful  city  of  Ponta  Delgada  looks  very  picturesque 
from  the  harbour.  A  black  sea-wall  rises  out  of  the  pool,  with 
curious  and  unsteady  houses  built  along  the  top  of  it.  Each  old 
bastion  in  this  wall  has  been  converted  into  some  sort  of  semi- 
amphibious  cave-dwelling.  There  is  a  very  ancient  fort  too,  so 
green  that  it  might  have  been  fashioned  out  of  a  yew  hedge. 
The  houses  about  the  haven  hang,  for  the  most  part,  over  the  sea, 
as  if  they  were  being  pushed  off  the  land  by  the  weight  of  the 
town.  Behind  lies  the  white  city,  with  its  deep  red  roofs  and  its 
occasional  walls  of  blue  or  yellow  to  temper  the  glare  of  it.  Out 
of  the  medley  rise  towers  and  steeples,  a  Norfolk  Island  pine  or 
two,  and  a  hill  with  a  church  on  the  summit  of  it  The  little  boat 
harbour  is  one  of  the  most  fascinating  features  of  the  place.  It  may 
have  been  brought  here  bodily  from  Venice.  It  is  overshadowed 
with  white  and  blue  houses,  beneath  which  are  a  colonnade  of 
many  arches,  as  well  as  pillared  stairs  which  lead  down  to  the 
water.  Picturesque  folk  lounge  over  the  parapets,  while  to  the 
sea  stair  are  moored  gaudy-coloured  boats  of  an  unfamiliar  type. 
The  way  out  of  this  little  harbour,  towards  the  town,  is  through  a 


"THE    SOUGH    OF   AN    OLD    SONG."  373 

noble  stone  gateway  of  three  arches,  elaborately  ornamented  and 
ablaze  with  heraldic  devices.     It  bears  the  date  1783. 

The  town  itself  is  bright,  clean  and  cheery,  wholesome  and 
trim.  In  the  square  by  the  landing-stage  is  the  handsome  Matrice 
church,  a  building  of  strange  and  quaint  design  with  a  fine  facade 
of  carved  stone,  and  with  many  wondrous  works  in  its  interior. 
A  still  more  remarkable  and  more  ancient  edifice  is  the  Jesuits' 
church.  In  many  of  its  features  it  is  probably  unique.  Without 
it  has  J^  aspect  of  a  stately  country  mansion,  within  it  is  as 
elaborately  decorated  as  a  Jain  temple  in  India.  In  the  streets 
are  numerous  old  stone  houses  of  much  dignity,  certain  beautiful 
convents  and  many  brightly  painted  buildings  of  a  humbler  kind. 
Mule  teams,  laden  with  packs  or  panniers,  are  the  chief  means  of 
transport,  although  donkeys  are  much  affected  by  the  town  folk 
and  lumbering  bullock-waggons  by  the  people  from  the  country. 
]\Iost  of  the  women  still  wear  the  dark  blue  capote,  which  covers 
them  head  and  foot,  as  with  a  monk's  cowl  and  cloak.  This  dress 
must  be  one  of  the  most  curious  extremes  ever  reached  in  the 
erratic  evolution  of  female  clothing.  On  the  outskirts  of  the  town 
are  dainty  gardens  which  add  not  a  little  to  the  charm  of  the 
White  City. 

All  who  idled  the  day  ashore  came  back  to  the  ship  with  the 
assurance  that  St.  Michael's  was  a  pleasant  place.  It  seemed  from 
the  little  they  said  that  the  secret  of  the  charm  was  not  to  be 
found  in  the  quaint  Venetian  boat  harbour,  nor  about  the  ancient 
forts  and  walls,  nor  in  the  shades  of  the  incense-scented  churches, 
but  that  it  had  to  do  with  something  more  subtle  and  unexpected. 
It  was  merely  this,  that  after  many  months  in  the  tropics — 
perhaps  after  many  years — they  had  come  upon  things  that 
reminded  them  of  England. 

There  was,  in  the  first  place,  a  clean,  keen  air,  that  brought 
with  it  memories  of  gusty  chalk  cliffs  and  gorse-covered  downs. 
It  was  a  white  wind,  alert  and  virile,  shrewd  as  chill  steel,  a 
familiar  wind  the  mere  breathing  of  which  was  a  nearly  for- 
gotten joy.  After  the  drugged,  listless  atmosphere  that  stews 
over  the  land  of  palms,  it  came  as  a  welcome,  satisfying  draught 


374  THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 

Moreover  there  fell  upon  the  nostrils  the  well-remembered  smell 
of  the  good,  brown  earth,  the  savour  of  our  English  mother  earth, 
the  smell  of  the  ploughed  field  and  of  the  spade-turned  garden. 
There  is  no  such  sense  of  the  land  in  the  alien  tropics,  rich  as  the 
soil  may  be  and  abundant  as  may  be  the  rain. 

Delightful  too,  after  many  months,  was  the  first  sight  of 
leafless  trees  bearing  their  strong  limbs  and  their  tingling 
branches  to  the  kindly  sky.  After  the  extravagant,  never-fading 
green  of  the  South,  this  sight  brought  with  it  a  great  measure  of 
relief,  for  persistent  splendour  is  of  all  things  the  most  wearisome. 
Fresh  from  the  garish  display  of  imperial-tinted  flowers,  it  was 
like  meeting  with  an  old  village  friend  to  see  once  more  the 
common  nettle  and  a  crop  of  dandelions.  The  Portuguese 
gardener  who  was  proud  to  show  a  poor,  marasmic  palm,  shivering 
in  the  open,  was  much  surprised  at  the  rapture  these  weeds 
produced,  nor  could  he  understand  the  joy  which  greeted  a  clump 
of  ferns  and  a  stretch  of  real  grass — not  Guinea  grass  nor  Bahama 
grass — but  the  grass  of  the  lawn  and  the  open  common. 

Then,  again,  on  all  sides  were  cottages  with  chimneys  and  the 
rare  sight  of  smoke  rising  heavenwards,  bringing  with  it  the  smell 
of  burning  wood,  and  the  recollection,  well-nigh  blotted  out,  of 
firesides  around  which  folk  gather  when  the  day  is  done. 

These  pleasant  sights  touched  a  chord  of  memory,  primitive 
enough  it  may  be,  yet  precious  to  all  whose  homes  lie  in  northern 
latitudes.  In  place  of  the  florid  poetry  and  gaudy  romance  of  the 
Indies  we  had  come  unexpectedly  upon  lines  from  a  spelling 
book,  upon  childish  verses  learnt  in  the  nursery,  upon  "  the  sough 
of  an  old  song." 


MISSISSIPPI 

NO.  RTH  AMnERICA 

LOUISIANA 


WEST  INDIES 

and 
SPANISH   MAIN 

on  Mercator's  Projection 


^ 


INDEX. 


Abercromby,    Sir   Ralph,      6,    99,   112, 

II?.. 131 
Aborigines  of  West  Indies,  168,  241  (see 

also  Caribs) 
Alabama,  The,  162 
America  and  Amerigo,  64 

Columbus,  64 
American  Mediterranean,  loi 
Amerigo  Vespucci,  65 
Anegada,  204 
Antigua,  55,  96,  104,  197 
Antilles,  Greater,  103 

Lesser,  103 
Arawaks,  168 
Armida,  Island  of,  367 
Au  Precheur,  162 
Azores,  The,  363,  366,  368,  372 


Bahamas,  The,  169,  231 

Balboa,  Vasco  Nunez  de,  310 

Barbados,  2,  3,  7,  10,  12,   13,   17,  21,  49, 
96 
and  St.  Vincent  eruption,  43 
Annexation  of,  8 
George  Washington  at,  24 
Inhabitants  of,  10,  28,  37,  40 
Leper  asylum  of,  13 
Lunatic  asylum  of,  14 
Planters  of,  37 

Basse  Terre,  179 

Bathsheba,  21,  42 

Benbow,  Admiral,  289 

Bimini  Islands,  231 

Birds  of  West  Ind  es,  34,  58,  60,  99,  167 

Black  Beard,  208 

Bocas  of  Trinidad,  63,  94,  98 

Boiling  Lake,  166 

Bois  Immortel,  81 

Bonnet,  Major  Stede,  25,  209 

Bridgetown,  9,  11,  24 

Brimstone  Hill,  i8o 

Buccaneers,  The,  51,  257,  319 


Canal  Zone,  Panama,  308,  325,  326 
Sanitation  of,  326 


Caribbean  Sea,  loi 

Caribbee  Islands,  103 

Caribs,  108,  no,  iii,  164,  16S,  173,  179, 
234,  239,  241 

Carleil,  General,  254,  350,  351 

Carlisle  Bay,  7,  9 

Cartagena,  City  of,  355 

Drake  at,  348,  350,  357 
Harbour  of,  348,  357 
Storming  of,  350,  352,  357 
Vernon  at,  352,  357 

Casa  Blanca,  Puerto  Rico,  230 

Casimir  Delavigne,  Song  of,  130 

Castries,  no,  112,  123 

Cayman,  Grand,  102 

Chagres  River,  3n,  312,  326,  330 

Champlain,  Samuel,  225,  340 

Charlotte  Amalia,  205,  208 

Christophe,  Henri  I,  243 

Climate,   12,  56,  179,  309,  310,  312,  326, 

337,  373 
Codringtcn  College,  19 
Colombia,  359 
Colon,  307,  325,  326 
Columbus,  Christopher,  62,  95,  137,  164 
169,    204,    215,    230,    23S, 
244,  248,  249,  307,  340 
First  landing  of,  169 
House  of,  248 
Tomb  of,  249 
Crab,  Land,  35 
Cristobal,  308 
Crow  of  Barbados,  34 
Trinidad,  58 
Cruces,  3n,  312,  317,  318,  327,  331,  336 
Cul  de  Sac  Bay,  113,  n4 
Culebra,  312 
Cumberland,  Earl  of,  165,  216,  223 


Dampikk,  51,  259,  310,  321,  331 

De  Grassc,  Admiral,  112,  138,  175,  277 

Derelict  ships,  364 

D'Kslaing,  Admiral,  114 

Des'ialincs,  242 

Diablolin,  167 


376 


THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 


Diamant  Rock,  146 
Diamond  Rock,  H.M.S.,  147 
Dominica,  34,  104,  162,  173,  175 

Battle  of,  175,  277 
Drake,    Sir    Francis,    52,   165,   179,  216, 

217,  244,  251,  310,  313,  316, 

343.  357 
at  Cartagena,  348,  350,  357 
at  San  Domingo,  244,  249,  251 
at  San  Juan,  218 
Death  of,  346 
on   the    Isthmus,  310,  313,  316, 

336,  337.  345 
Drake's  Spit,  348,  350,  357 
Du  Casse,  Admiral,  2S9,  290 
Duddely,  or  Duddeley,  Robert,  8,  82 

Earthquake  at  Kingston,  267,  279,  285, 

289,  29S 
El  Dorado,  57,  72,  95 
Empress  Josephine,  141 
Espanola,  17 1,  238,  257,  263 


Fer  de  Lance,  125 

Fever,  Yellow,  121,  224,  304,  311,  353 

Fireflies,  59,  86 

Five  Islands,  Trinidad,  98 

Florida,  loi 

Flying  fish,  35 

Fort  de  France,  138,  142 

Fountain  of  Youth,  231 

French  Revolution  and  West  Indies,  130, 

242 
Frobisher,  Martin,  251,  350,  352 

Caspar  Grande,  98 

Geography  of  West  Indies,  loi 

Gold  Road,  The,  309,  316,  331,  336 

Gorgas,  Colonel,  326,  336 

Grand  Etang,  107 

Grenada,  96,  106 

Grey,  General,  112,  121,  142 

Gros  Islet,  1 10,  112,  115,  175 

Guadaloupe,  175 

Guiana,  73 

Gulf  of  Mexico,  loi 

Raria,  57,  63,  64,  65,  94,  98 
Stream,  102,  363 


Hackelston's  Cliff,  17 
Haiti,  171,  238,  243,  257,  263 
Hamilton,  Alexander,  195 
Hawkins,  Sir  John,  217,  219,  244 
Death  of,  219 
High  Woods,  Trinidad,  78 
Hispaniola  {see  EspaRola) 
Hole  Town,  8,  22 
Holy  Island,  64 


Hood,  Admiral,  147 
Humming  birds,  60 


Island  of  Eternal  Youth,  231 

Island,  The  vanishing,  366 

Isthmus  of  Panama,  307,  310,  316,  325 


Jamaica,  267,  273,  279,  293 

Capture  of,  271 
Jenkins'  Ear,  War  of,  267,  340 
Johnny  Crow,  58 
Josephine,  Empress,  141 


KiDD,  Captain,  263 
Kingston,  267,  279,  2S9,  294 

Earthquake  at,   267,  279,   2S5, 
289,  298 


La  Guayra,  363 

La  Navidad,  238 

La  Vigie,  no,  in,  112,  114,  115 

Laventille  Hill,  66 

Leeward  Islands,  103 

Leprosy  in  West  Indies,  13 


Manchineel,  22 

Manoa,  City  of,  73 

Marie  Galante,  164,  175,  218 

Martinez,  Juan,  73 

Martinique,  137,  142,  148,  158,  175 

Women  of,  139 
Maynard,  Lieut.,  211 
Mona  Island,  236 
Monmouth's  Rebellion,  41,  191 
Mont  Pele,  144,  158 

Eruption  of,  148,  150,  154 
Montserrat,  196 

Moore,  Sir  John,  112,  113,  191,  131 
Morgan,  The   Buccaneer,  259,  301,  312, 

313 
Morgan's  Raid,  312,  313,  330,  335,  337 
Morne  Diablotin,  104,  163 
Morne  Fortune,   no,  in,  112,  113,  117, 

131 

Most  Blessed  Trtniiy,  The,  50,  197,  339 
Mount  Misery,  178,  180 
Mutiny  at  Trinidad,  70 


Negro  huts,  12 

Negroes,    10,  28,  30,    125,  126,  130,  139, 

178,  241 
Nelson,  Horatio,  il,  22,  25,  95,  192,  300 
Nevis,  55,  96,  185,  187,  192 
Nombre  de  Dios,  311,  314,  316,  336,  345, 

347 


INDEX. 


377 


OjEDO,  Alonso  de,  65 

Olive  Blossom e.  The,  7,  22,  no 


Pacific  Ocean,  310,  316,  327,  331 
Panama  City,  311,  328 

Isthmus  of,  307,  310,  316,  325 

Old,  330,  334 
Paria,  Gulf  of,  57,  63,  64,  65,  94,  98 
Pelican,  99 
Penn,  Admiral,  271 
Perico  Island,  52,  338 
Picton,  Sir  Thomas,  66,  112 
Pigeon  Island,  no,  120 
Pirates,  26,  51,  204,  208,  223,  257,  263, 

297,  316,  319.  339 
Pitch  Lake,  75,  89 
Pitons,  The,  St.  Lucia,  128 
Pizarro,  314,  337 
Planters,  37,  38,  183,  189 
Ponce  de  Leon,  227,  230 
Ponta  Delgada,  372 
•  Poor  Whites'  of  Barbados,  40,  191 
Port  Antonio,  273 
Porto  Bello,  314,  336,  340,  343 

Admiral  Vernon  at,  340 
Taking  of,  340 
Port  of  Spain,  57,  59,  66,  78 
Port  Royal,  291,  293,  298,  303 
Puerto  Colombia,  359 
Puerto  Rico,  215,  223,  227,  230 


Qu'EST-ce  qu'il  dit  bird,  60 


Raleigh,  Sir  Walter,  69,  72,  75,  89,  95 

Redonda,  196 

Revolution,  French,  in  West  Indies,  130, 

242 
Roddam,  The,  steamship,  127,  151 
Rodney,    Admiral,    no,    120,    138,    175, 

200,  277 
Roseau,  165 
Rupert,  Prince,  204 


Saba,  181,  200 

Sabrina  Shoal,  368 

Saints'  Passage,  175 

San  Domingo,  240,  244,  249,  251,  271 

Drake    at,    244,  245,   249, 
251 
Sangre  Grande,  79 
San  Juan  d'Ulloa,  217,  343 
San  Juan,  Puerto  Rico,  215,  227,  230 
Cumberland  at,  223 


San  Juan,  Drake  at,  218 

San  Salvador,  169 

Santa  Maria,  The,  170,  238 

Santo  Domingo,  243 

Sargasso  Sea,  363 

Sharp,  Bartholomew,  51,  197,  320 

Slavery  in  West  Indies,  29,  130,  241 

Sombrero,  104 

Soufriere,  St.  Lucia,  127,  128 

Spain  and  the  West  Indies,  171,  257 

Spanish  Town,  274 

Sparrow,  Barbadian,  35 

Statia,  181,  198 

St.  Brandum,  366 

St.  Christopher,  177,  183,  189 

St.  Eustatius,  181,  198 

St.  George's,  Grenada,  106 

St.  John's  Church,  Barbados,  18 

St.  Joseph,  68,  76 

St.  Kitts,  177,  183,  189 

St.  Lucia,  IC9,  114,  117,  123,  131 

History  of,  I  lo 
St.  Michael's,  368,  372 
St.  Pierre,  132,  144,  148,  154,  158 

Destruction  of,  127,  150,  154 

Revolution  at,  133 
St.  Thomas,  204,  208 
St.  Vincent,  Eruption  at,  48 
Sugar  Bird,  35 


Teach,  Edward,  27,  208 

Tick  Bird,  60 

Tortuga,  260 

Tourists,    Early,    3,    8,    82,     183,    223, 

225 
Toussaint  Breda,  242 
Trinidad,  8,  56,  62,  68,  78,  82,  267 

Bocas  of,  63,  94,  98 

Discovery  of,  62,  94 

High  Woods  of,  78 

Mutiny  at,  70 

Pitch  Lake  of,  75,  89 

Taking  of,  65,  99 
Trois  Ilets,  141 


Vanishing  Island,  The,  366 
Venables,  General,  271 
Venezuela,  56,  65,  lor 
Vernon,  Admiral,  340,  352,  357 
Vigo,  252 

Ville  de  Paris,  The,  175,  277 
Virgin  Islands,  204 


Wafer,  51,  322 

War  of  Jenkins'  Ear,  267,  340 


378 


THE   CRADLE   OF   THE   DEEP. 


Warner,  Thomas,  179,  180,  183,  196 

Washington,  George,  24 

Watling,  John,  53 

Watling's  Island,  169 

Wentworth,  General,  352 

West  Indies,  Aborigines  of,  168,  241 
Birds    of,    34,    58,     60, 

167 
Climate  of,  12,  56,  179 
Geography  of,  loi 
Leprosy  in,  13 


99. 


West   Indies,  People     of    {see    Negroes, 
Caribs,  &c.) 
Planters  of,  37,  183,  189 
Slavery  in,  29,  130,  241 
Spain  and  the,  171,  257 
Strange  animals  of,  274 

Windward  Islands,  103 


Yellow  Fever,  121   224,  304,  311,  353 
Ysabel,  240 


Pi 


PRIXTEB  BY 

SPOTTIBWOODE  AKD  CO.   LTD.,  COLCHHBTEB 

LOSDOJJ  AND  ETON 


i 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIO''JAL  L'BRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  954  653    2 


CENTRAL  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
University  of  California,  San  Diego 

DATE  DUE 


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